Cursed
by scarylolita
Summary: Kenny is tired. He's tired of living, dying, and everything in between. Kyle wants to help, but unfortunately, Kenny isn't the only one in South Park with problems. K2.
1. KM: The little things that no one knows

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**So here I am, once again attempting to write fan-fiction. I just suddenly became very obsessed with South Park and watched it all in a matter of weeks during my exam period. It was proven to be a bad idea, but it was still so worth it. Besides, I passed all my exams and classes. University is really lame.**

**Pairings: Minor Cryle, eventually Creek (side) and K2 (main)**

* * *

_I don't wanna sleep_  
_I don't wanna dream_  
_'Cause my dreams don't comfort me_

Skillet

**Kenneth McCormick – The little things that no one knows**

_It's a dream..._

_I'm dreaming?_

My feet slam against the pavement in a violent, sloppy manner, disturbing the surrounding silence. It is warm, dark and I'm sweating but I can't seem to stop. Almost there. My legs seem to know where I am going as they propel me onward. As I reach the door I skid to a halt, out of breath, my mouth dry.

I'm led down a bright, white hallway by a woman in a uniform. There are people I know lined up and as I pass by they give me sympathetic looks and I know it is something bad. It is always something bad.

I reach the end and there is Stan, frowning, with an arm wrapped around a sniffling Kyle. My parents are there too.

"No!" my momma's screeching, "My baby! Not my baby!"

We go down a short flight of stairs and it grows quiet as we approach the door. All you can hear are the taps of our anxious feet. Reaching for the silver knob, the door swings open with an eerie creek. We enter a room that looks like nothing I've seen outside a television show focusing on crime scene investigations and deaths.

There are smaller doors on the wall in front of us. My heart starts roaring in my chest as she opens one of them and pulls out the stretcher. When she pulls back the white cloth to reveal the face I can't breathe.

It's me.

Of course it's me. I should have seen this coming.

The woman looks at me with sympathetic eyes.

"_I'm very sorry for your loss_" and I crumble to the ground.

Each night it is the same thing.

Tortured.

Poisoned.

Shot.

Hanged.

Drowned.

Disemboweled.

Fucking syphilis.

And the list goes on for miles.

Dead. Always dead, and I know that these aren't just dreams. This is real. You name it, it's probably happened to me. Dreams and real life seem to mesh together these days.

It's funny. I die in my dreams and I die when I'm awake. I attract it. What a marvelous life I lead!

I try to ignore the bad things and carry on with my life as best as I can. I've created this persona for myself. I'm careless, crazy. I do what I want and don't think about the consequences. As a result, people think I'm too proud. It's not that I'm proud; I am just more comfortable with myself than most people are around this age.

No, that's a lie too. I'm not very comfortable with myself in many senses. I'm just comfortable with myself in ways other kids wish they could be.

Sure, I am all right to look at. If I'm horny I can get laid with a simple gesture, but there are things about me that nobody knows.

Lots of people tend to think I'm a whore, or simply an irresponsible never-do-well. I can't really argue with either judgement. I'm easy. I'm told I look nice, the same thing is never said about my personality. No one has ever said, "You know that Kenny McCormick, he's a real nice guy."

Yeah, most people assume the worst of me. I'm the white trash kid with the cum-stained playboys scattered throughout his room busy envying the elegance of a typical human being. Part of that is true. My playboys are spotless, but I am jealous of my friends. They're normal. I look at people like Stan or Kyle and I'm green with envy. I think, "Why me? What did I do wrong? Did I do something horrible in a past life to deserve this?" It makes me want to scream my frustrations and just take a bullet to my brains, but unfortunately that is part of the problem.

"I DIE ALL THE FUCKING TIME!" I'd love to scream, and I have before but the words have long gone stale, forced back down each time they leave my mouth. All the truths I have to keep bottled up inside of me and each time I wonder, "Will this be the last time I come back?" But death seems to follow me no matter where I go so no matter how careful I try to be it is in vain.

I've found out that the longer I take to die, the longer I take to come back to Earth. The first time I noticed it was when we were nine years old. I was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy and put in a hospital to slowly wither away. I was gone for months, and when I finally returned they just asked me where I've been. I was completely pissed off, but at the same time I was relieved. I was beginning to think that I wouldn't be coming back at all.

Each time I die, I end up in hell and I find myself thinking I should have behaved, read the bible, maybe went to church, yet once I get sucked back onto earth I never make any changes. I'm still the same as I was before dying.

I know that throughout South Park it is widely believed that the McCormick's beat their kids and have a meth lab in their back yard. My parents don't hit me much anymore… and well, the second assumption I really can't deny. But no matter how much I say that my parents haven't been kicking my ass, no one really believes me and it certainly doesn't help when I'm all roughed up from avoiding near death situations.

My family has their problems, like most, but maybe ours are a bit worse than most. It's well known throughout the town that my parents have a meth lab in our back yard, but no one really bothers calling them out on it and the police in this town are fuckin' idiots.

Lately, my parents are too busy screaming at each other to lay a finger on me or Karen. And Kevin? Hah, he is in prison, where he belongs. I can safely say I won't be missing his sorry ass.

Right now, it's morning. Mornings in the McCormick household can go either way: very loud or ominously quiet. If it's loud it means my parents are usually already drunk or high, hollering at each other while Karen hides away in her room crying. If it's quiet, they are passed out cold from a night of heavy drinking and drugs.

Today, it's quiet.

I get up out of bed and check on my parents. They're not in their room, so my guess is that they're both passed out downstairs.

As I make my way down the steps my suspicions are confirmed. My dad is lying on the couch with his hand wrapped loosely around an empty bottle of beer. My ma is in the kitchen with her head resting on the table. I approach her and give her a gentle shake.

"Ma?"

She lets out a soft groan and slowly lifts her head.

"Ma, are you okay?"

"Of course, baby," she says softly, standing up. "Help your momma upstairs, will you?"

I nod and wrap an arm around her so she won't fall as we make our way up each step. I help her into bed and go to check on Karen.

The door creaks open and I stick my head inside to find that she is still fast asleep. Thank God.

I return to my room and shut the door behind me, silently thanking the lords for the lack of shuffling this morning. I could really use some alone time. Alone time is difficult to obtain in a house full of rowdy people and a lack of locks.

It makes me want to cringe remembering all the times that Karen almost walked in on me jerking off. That is not a conversation I ever want to have with her. I don't think her naïve mind could handle it.

I stare up at the ceiling. I wish we had a popcorn ceiling. Those are so much neater than smooth ceilings.

I can hear an airplane outside. Sometimes I feel like, with my luck, an airplane might stop working above my house and come straight for me. Would you be surprised? Or maybe I'll be the next _Donnie Darko_ and a jet engine will crush me while I'm in my bed… Ugh.

I take hold of my dick and try not to think about shit like that.

* * *

It's raining cats and dogs. I'm on my way to to Kyle's house to welcome him back to South Park. The lucky bastard spent his summer in Florida. I wonder if he got a tan?

I decide to jay-walk, since it's quicker. I look both ways, although the road turns in a strange way and you can't see coming cars. I take one step, then another and I turn my head just in time to see a large semi coming towards me. If I try to move, I'd be able to make it...

If I just...

But I don't. I can't. I freeze.

This will hurt, but I can't bring myself to jump out of the way. I just stand here, and the semi hits me. I hear the tires squealing, the driver must be trying to slow down but it's too late for that. I feel the bones cracking when the semi slams into me and more cracking again when my body hit the ground. I land on some distant pavement and then pain.

It hurts, like dying always does. It's also going to be a slower death, like I prayed it wouldn't be this time.

I hear people voices, but I don't know who. I can't move. I'm bleeding out and I can't move, so I just keep laying here and waiting for it to be over. People are screaming, it's a sickening sound I've grown accustomed to hearing as the years went on.

Footsteps approach and then, "Oh, God, no!" I'm betting it's the guy who was driving the semi. I feel kind of guilty, but he'll forget all about it tomorrow.

People always forget. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing, all I know is that it bothers me. It's always bothered me. My friends never remember screaming themselves hoarse over my mangled corpse and the next time I see them they grin and say, "Hey, where were you?" They don't understand and there's nothing I can do to make them understand. I'm alone in this and I always will be.

"Shh, it'll be okay, son," another voice says. I want to laugh. I can only imagine the state I'm in. If it were anyone else, I'd call bullshit, but it's me and I know I'll be okay.

He's applying pressure to different parts of my body. If I could, I'd tell him not to bother, but I can't really speak right now. I gurgle and I feel blood spill out from the corners of my mouth. The metallic taste makes me want to cringe.

"Shit, shit, shit, oh fuck," the semi driver keeps repeating in a ritualistic sort of way.

I close my eyes and the man applying pressure yells, "Son, you need to stay awake!"

I don't listen. I can feel the rain washing the blood off my lips. I close my eyes and I can feel myself drifting.

I smile a bit, because it's all too familiar.

Soon everything stops, the pain stops, and I'm whisked away for what must be at least the thousandth time.

At times in your life, you may find yourself saying, "oh, it's so quiet," but if you actually listen, I mean really listen, then you can hear things. They are little things like the ticking of a clock, the gentle hum of a furnace, or the wind outside your window, but those sounds still matter. You probably don't know what true silence sounds like. When you experience it, you feel like you've gone deaf and it's horrifying.

After I die, I spend short moments like that. It's dark and quiet and it never gets less horrific. I used to wonder if that is what awaits people who don't come back to earth after they die but now I know better. There is a heaven and there is a hell. I've been to both, though hell seems to hold me in favor. Maybe I really am some sort of demon after all.

There is always this white light that I see after the moments of darkness and silence are over. I want to reach towards it, but I can never get close enough.

I never understood what was happening to me when I was young. I guess I still don't understand completely what it is I'm going through or why.

When my vision clears and the silence is over, I am lying on the sofa in Satan's office. Damien is pacing.

"Back so soon?" he asks, after I groan, letting him know I'm awake.

"Sadly," I whine.

"Hey, that time was your own fault."

"Yeah, yeah."

"So," he shrugs, "Up for a game of cards?"

I laugh, "You're on."

_Sorry, Kyle. Guess I won't be able to welcome you back._


	2. KB: Home sweet home

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

* * *

_My eyes have always followed you around the room  
'Cause you're the only god that I will ever need_

Noel Gallagher

**Kyle Broflovski – Home sweet home**

I step out of the airplane and prepare myself to meet the cold South Park air for the first time in months. I inhale and exhale, my breath leaves my mouth visibly in a puff of white smoke. I press my lips together, no longer used to the cold mountain air and making my distaste for the weather very apparent.

_Welcome home_, I think to myself, tugging the ears of my ushanka down further.

"Come on, Kyle."

I follow my parents and Ike to collect our baggage. They're all chatting animatedly about the vacation. It gave my dad an opportunity to fiddle around and figure out how to use his new digital camera. It's a DSLR and he feels very professional with it.

I sent Stan and Kenny quick emails before I left the hotel, letting them know I'd be back today. Hopefully that means I'll get to see them later on. It felt weird being away from them for so long. I think it's the first summer we've been separated.

I wasn't only taking a vacation from South Park; I was taking a vacation from all the strangeness that South Park tends to attract. This summer, there were no crazy adventures involving potential aliens or otherworldly creatures. Sometimes I wonder if the town is cursed or something, because I can't think of any other viable reason as to why the parents can be so goddamn retarded. I wouldn't be surprised if the gates of hell were located under this city.

At the hotel, I met kids my own age, but they were nothing compared to my friends in South Park. These kids were parent-pleasers… then again; I suppose that is why I got along with them so swimmingly…

It was an interesting contrast from a typical day in South Park. South Park can be a pretty nasty place.

In South Park kids get high by an overindulgence of cough syrup, or they sniff paint. Rumor has it that the McCormick's have a meth lab, but who knows for sure if that is true and it's definitely not something I would ask Kenny about.

I was never one for drugs or smoking, but I've been known to get a little drunk every so often. The party scene has been something that Kenny always liked more so than the rest of us, but that doesn't stop him from trying to drag me along.

I am not really part of the nightlife. After midnight is when the crazies all come out.

People get dressed up with faces full of makeup just to sweat it all off in an overcrowded shady dance club. Homeless men and women get fixed inside their cardboard boxes in allies or on cement stairwells of public buildings, begging for change. I can never say no to them, and Stan or Kenny usually end up dragging me away before I can reach into my pockets while Cartman points and laughs at their misfortunes.

On the rare occasions I do attend these sort of events, I am the designated driver, or the person to carry drunken friends to the car. It's because of my strong distaste for anything that may impair my good judgement. I really can't handle my liquor. I also feel somewhat obligated to be the designated driver. If I am not the one to do it, no one will and I don't want my friends ending up naked in the middle of nowhere. Kenny has been there and done that. I was the one he called to come pick him up and I want to try and prevent that from happening again.

Once, while accompanying Kenny to a nightclub, a woman once offered me sexual services. She looked like the stereotypical hooker, with herpes on her face. I cringed inwardly and Kenny noticed my discomfort. He threw his arm around me and said, "Sorry, this one's mine."

When we were far away enough Kenny told me that was Old Frida and broke into fits of poorly stifled laughter.

"Thanks for that," I had grumbled at him, only to entice him into more laughter.

Inside the clubs you find what is to be expected: DJs, lights, and people dancing so close together they might as well rent a room and make a night out of it. That was probably the plan for a lot of them. There's a sweaty mass of people moving in the center of the room and the air feels thick, hot and suffocating. I'm claustrophobic, which made things a bit worse. The smell was stale, like beer, and there were occasional fights. I`ve been there to witness many of them first hand, whether it's bitch slapping or fist fighting.

I hate it. I hate going to places like that. It makes me cringe. By the end of the night there is always an abundance of underage, drunk teenagers stumbling out of clubs and vomiting on the sidewalks like classy motherfuckers. And how, one might wonder, do teenagers like us get into these bars and clubs to begin with? The answer is simple: this is South Park.

Since we are being so honest, I assume it will be all right to state that no one really gives a damn in about that kind of stuff around here. They're all too busy caring about the wrong things. My mom is a prominent case of this, with her constant protests and insane rallies that always remain uncalled for.

"Hurry up, Bubbalah, you're lagging behind," her voice rings out into the crowds of people, ripping me away from my thoughts.

"Coming, Mom." I quicken my pace.

* * *

Late in the day the doorbell rings. I give a wide smile when I see Stan standing in the doorway. We hug, complete with pats on the back, and then retreat to my room to play some video games.

"So what's been going on in South Park while I was away?" I ask after he finishes interrogating me about my vacation.

"Surprisingly, not all that much. Cartman decided to get heinously drunk and beat the shit out of Kenny though."

"What?" I ask, showing unmasked surprise in my tone. Though, I don't think I should be as surprised as I am. This _is_ Cartman, after all…

Stan shrugs, "It was fucking scary, dude. Cartman and Kenny just started arguing and then Cartman completely blew up and started throwing punches and kicks. He kept hitting Kenny even when he went down and even when he stopped moving."

"Damn…"

Stan nods, "It was fucked up. I'm just glad he's alive after taking a beating from the big fat-ass."

We all still call Cartman a fat-ass because the nickname just stuck from when we were kids, but in all fairness Cartman isn't fat anymore. He grew into his body and really bulked up in muscle with the help of a newly found obsession with weight lifting. He has broad shoulders and big arms. I don't even want to imagine what it would feel like to get swung at by them.

"Poor Kenny…" I say.

"Cartman has been avoiding him ever since it happened. Butters thinks he feels bad but just won't admit it."

"Probably, you know how he is."

I am naïve and I keep trying to believe that there is some good left in Cartman even though he continues to try and prove me wrong. It always feels deliberate. It feels like he just doesn't want to admit to being human. It's like he thinks being human means to be weak, and the last thing he wants is to be weak.

I find that I need to keep reminding myself that this is the same Cartman who is very outspoken and adamant on his notions that the entire Jewish population should be destroyed. This is the same Cartman who thinks Hitler was "totally _kewl_ and badass". This is the same Cartman who gave me AIDS. I can say all of this, but Cartman has still proven himself time and time again, only offering the slightest redemptions.

He did save my life once or twice. Although, whenever I remind him of it he simply says, "I was just protecting what's mine."

And by that, he means his kidney, which I happen to have.

"Kenny didn't even fight back, he just took it."

"Why would he do that...?"

Stan shrugs, "I wanted to call you, but Kenny insisted I didn't. He said he didn't want to ruin your vacation and that he would be fine."

I shake my head. "You should have called anyway."

"I know," he frowns.

"Is he okay?"

"He is…" Stan says, and then pauses.

"But?"

"He has a lot of shit going on in his life right now, I doubt he needs more. Especially when that shit is coming from someone he considers to be a best friend."

"Does he still consider Cartman a friend after all that?"

Stan nods, "For some reason, he forgave Cartman right away even though he didn't say sorry, or accompany us to the hospital. Once Kenny was released, first thing he did was march over to Cartman's place and tell him that he was forgiven. He said he wouldn't press charges, too, even though the officers seemed to think he should. Kenny just told them he egged Cartman on."

"That was too nice of him. What did Cartman say?"

"He tried to play it off like he didn't really give a shit, he was like, '_Kinny_, it seems that you don't understand. I clearly don't care, because you see, if I did I wouldn't have done it in the first place.' He shut the door in Kenny's face after that."

"Harsh."

"I know, that's what I said, but it didn't sway Kenny one bit. He says he knows it will take some time for Cartman to come around and he also knows that without Kenny's forgiveness Cartman would just become an even bigger asshole."

"Probably right," I agree, "He likes to pretend he is less human than the rest of us."

"Exactly. That is basically what they were arguing about."

"Yeah, now I see why it mightn't have gone so well."

He nods warily.

I feel myself frown, being reminded of the blonde perv's absence. "Where is Kenny now? I thought he'd be here."

Stan shrugs, "I don't know. Sorry, dude. You know how he sometimes loses track of time and disappears for a while."

"Yeah," I sigh. I was looking forward to having them both around for the day. I missed being around friends while I was in Florida.

"Mm," he muses as we slowly ease into a comfortable silence and continue to play on the old okama game sphere until it gets dark. Stan says he has to leave around 10 PM. Apparently he has a late night rendezvous with Wendy.

"Play safe," I call from the doorway.

He flips me the bird as he walks to his car, but I can hear him laughing.

I go back inside and to the bathroom for my nightly ritual of flossing and brushing my teeth. I strip off my day clothes when I'm finished and pull on a grey t-shirt and some plaid pajama pants. As I make my way back to my room, the window is open and Kenny is sitting criss-cross on my bed.

"You're still white as a sheet; I thought you'd be at least a little tanned."

I grin, "We have a door, you know."

He grins back. "Sorry I missed you earlier."

I shrug, "Don't worry. Stan just left." I sit beside him and he puts an arm around me, pulling me towards him in a brief one-armed hug.

"Hey! You have summer freckles!" I exclaim, noticing the faint specks on his nose.

He makes a face and laughs, "Don't reminds me."

"Why? I like them," I say, ghosting my fingertips across his face.

He smiles. "So, how was the vacation?"

"It was nice, I suppose... but I think I'd rather stay here next summer."

Kenny laughs, "Yeah, we'd all rather you stayed here too! Stan was like a lost little puppy without his super best butt buddy."

I laugh with him, "I bet."

"So, guess what happened?" he asks.

"What happened?"

He gets this serious look on his face and stares me straight in the eye, as if he's determining whether or not I'm ready to find out.

Then his serious expression breaks into a mischievous smile.

"Liane Cartman came onto me, like, the week after you left. You should have seen the look on Cartman's face. He was mortified!"

"Are you fucking serious?"

He nods, and we both burst out laughing.

We chat about simple things. I wanted to keep talking about Cartman, but Kenny changed the subject to local sports. We soon fall into a comfortable silence, laying side-by-side on my bed.

"Kyle," Kenny says, breaking the silence.

"Yeah?"

"If you could pick which way you could die, how would you want to go?"

"Goddamn, morbid much?" I laugh, "Why do you want to know?"

"It's important," he says. His tone of voice is what stops me from asking further questions. There is desperation in it that most people probably wouldn't notice, but I've known Kenny since I was born and I notice things about him that no one else would.

"I'd want to go in my sleep, after living a long and happy life," I say.

He nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "That sounds like a good way to go."

"How would you want to go? I ask.

He turns his head and smiles at me, but doesn't answer my question. It kind of annoys me when he does that, but I don't bother pushing the subject.

Tonight he doesn't let me in. He never does. I want, more than anything, to ask him why, but I never do. I never can.

We're quiet for a long time, but I have a feeling he has more to say.

"Kyle," he says again.

"Kenny?"

"Something good is going to happen soon."

"Something good?"

He nods, "But something bad is going to happen first."

"Huh?"

"Something really bad."

"Like what?" I frown. I never really know what to say or how to react when Kenny starts to talk like this. No one does. I think most of us just go along to humor him.

"I'm not sure," he admits, "But whatever good comes from the bad, it will be worth it in the long run."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," he says in confidence, "I've never been so sure about anything in my life."


	3. KM: To hell and back, once again

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**Updates are going to be fewer because my best friend is living with me this summer, so it's hard to find the time to write. I'll update as much as I can though!**

* * *

_The night is the hardest time to be alive and 4am knows all my secrets._

Poppy Z. Brite

**Kenny McCormick – To hell and back, once again**

I'm glad I made it back here before the day ended and in time to welcome Kyle back, even if I was a little late.

I left through the window after Kyle fell asleep. I knew if Sheila saw "that strange Kenny boy" creeping around her house at night she probably would have had some questions.

It's funny. When Stan and Wendy's relationship grew more serious, Kyle and I became closer. I think I'm probably at the Broflovski residence more than Stan is these days.

In the beginning, Kyle felt neglected, because Stan's every waking second was dedicated to Wendy. He didn't want me to become Stan's replacement.

Kyle was dependent on Stan for a lot, and when Wendy came into the picture, he had more time to do his own things. I think he did a lot of self-reflecting and became more reliant on himself.

I certainly wouldn't say I've taken Stan's place. Stan has a piece of Kyle that no one else can ever get access to but then again so does Eric, and so do I. Kyle is the type of person who will give a part of himself to certain people, whether intentional or not. I'm not yet sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing.

When I get home, I check on Karen before retreating to my room. She is sound asleep, thankfully.

I strip out of my clothes and crawl into bed. Before I go to sleep, I pray that when I wake I'll be able to keep all the blood in my body.

* * *

No such fucking luck.

It's not mid-day yet and I'm already in hell, standing in Satan's office. I made the mistake of walking past a construction site, enough said.

I'm just glad I was by myself again. It's always worst when I'm with friends. I remember many occasions where Stan's eyes would grow wide as he choked out, "They… They killed Kenny!"

"You bastards!" Kyle would scream through tears.

Kyle is always the worst. He always cries and I hate to see and hear it. I don't want him to cry, least of all for someone like me.

However…

I don't want to sound like a nasty person, but sometimes it's nice seeing people cry, knowing that they cry feels like knowing who cares. If they cry then, as sadistic and selfish as it sounds, I don't end up feeling as angry when they forget. Maybe it's better they do forget. That way they won't be forced to have horribly bloody memories stuck in their head, popping up every time they close their eyes.

Well. At least it happened fast this time.

"Back so soon?" Damien asks.

"Don't fucking start," I grit my teeth.

"Hey, come on, don't be like that," he smiles innocently.

"Don't make that face; it just looks creepy on you."

"Dear, dear, full of harsh words today, aren't we?"

I sigh and sit back on the sofa, grumbling out an apology. "This is just so fucking unfair," I say.

"I know."

"Why does this happen to me?"

He smiles sympathetically, "I'm sorry, you know I can't say."

"But why?" I ask, desperately.

"A variety of different reasons."

"Fuck, you're no help at all."

"Well, I am the son of Satan," he grins.

We continue our playful banter, talking about unimportant things. There's no point in starting a game of chess because we both know that I won't be here for that long...

And there we go.

I grin and flip Damien off as I feel my vision start to waver. His laughter echoes in my ears as I'm taken home.

I often wonder if there is something horribly wrong with me. It is times like this that make me feel like I've lost all sanity. I want someone to grab my shoulders and shake me. I want them to tell me that yes, I am absolutely crazy and these are just dreams or hallucinations. But that never happens, because I'm not crazy. This is real and no one will tell me why.

When I wake up, I am in my bed. Obviously. Hell if I know how.

I check the clock, which reads 1:37 PM. It's still fairly early so I decide to visit Kyle. I also decide against changing. I'm wearing a pair of grey flannel sweatpants and an old band t-shirt with my orange hoodie. I don't think Kyle will mind my ugly attire.

As I step outside, I momentarily shut my eyes, allowing the cool breeze to sweep across my face. Summer is definitely gone.

I take the safest path to Kyle's house and manage to arrive at his doorstep in one piece.

"Hello," I greet Mrs. Broflovski, "Is Kyle home?"

She lets me in, telling me Kyle's up in his room. I thank her and run up the stairs.

"Kyleeeee!" I say in a sing-song voice as I swing his bedroom door open. Kyle is sitting on his bed with an array of large books scattered around him.

His shoulders give a slight jump as he looks up. "Hey, Kenny," he smiles, though lacks its usual vibrancy.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Just some light reading," he says, closing a textbook that looks like it weighs fifty pounds. It shuts with a loud smack.

"Light?" I scoff, lifting up one of the books he's reading. "_Criminal Law and its Processes_? _The Textbook of Criminal Law_? Why are you reading this stuff? You don't even want to be a lawyer."

Kyle rubs his temples, "My parents, man, you know how they are. We're going into grade twelve and they want me to get a head start on my future."

"Law is your future?"

"Apparently."

"Kyle, Kyle," I shake my head, "Do yourself a favor and don't go into law just because your parents want you to."

"I don't know what I want to do, Kenny."

"But that's okay. We're young. We're not supposed to know what we want to do. That's what your first year of university is for. Finding out."

"Maybe."

"No maybes. Just promise me something, okay?"

"Okay, what?"

"Promise me that you'll figure things out for yourself. Don't let your parents arrange your future for you."

"They have my best interests in mind, though…"

"Sure, you might be financially successful, but will you be happy? There are other things you need to consider, not just money."

"I don't know, Kenny," he says, and I know that nothing I'm saying is sinking in.

"Try not to worry. School hasn't started and you already look tired."

"I didn't get much sleep last night," he says hoarsely, rubbing his eyes.

"But you were out like a light before I left."

"Yeah," he shrugs, "But I guess I woke up a little later and couldn't fall back asleep."

"Why not?"

"I just have a lot on my mind."

I feel myself frown, "Take a nap, then."

"I can't, I have too much to do."

"Kyle, you can't neglect your health."

"I also can't disappoint my parents."

"And you won't," I say, "Just take a break every once in a while, it won't hurt."

He shrugs, laying his head back against a pillow. "Tell me a story, Kenny."

"What kind of story?" I ask, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"A happy one," he says, "Tell me a happy story."

"Okay," I say. "Hmm…" I muse aloud, trying to think something up.

Kyle waits patiently, closing his eyes and curling his fingers into the blanket.

"Okay," I say once I come up with an idea, "There was once a young woman who was in love, but she was sad, for her love was not returned. Rather than reject her, the man she loved had tried his hardest to heal her. He listened while she poured her heart out. She said that so many people come and go in her life, but no one stays. He wanted to tell her that he would stay, but that might have been a lie, so instead, he told her about the sun, the stars and other things she's never experienced.

"She told him that when she was ten years old her mother stopped loving her. He wanted to tell her it didn't matter, because he loved her, but that would have been a lie. Instead, he told her about the world, and other things she's never experienced.

"She left tears on his piano, hoping he would find them but he pretended they weren't there and they only left stains. His fingers glided across those black and white keys and she listened to all the songs he never wrote for her.

And soon, their ribs pressed together on the bantam bed and for those short moments, he made her life seem prettier than it was. But morning came and she woke up alone."

"Kenny, this isn't a happy story."

I smile at him and continue, "She stood on the roof of her apartment complex and stared at the immensity of the sky. 'God,' she said, 'Why did this happen?' but of course, she heard no reply."

Kyle frowns, "Kenny…"

"So she jumped."

"What?" he gapes, "That wasn't a happy story!"

"But it is," I say,

"No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is."

"No way!"

"Yes."

"How? She jumped!"

"Yes."

"She killed herself!"

"She didn't, though. Quite the opposite."

"But how?" he asks.

"Because she had wings," I say, spreading my arms. "She just flew away. Somewhere better."

"Hm," Kyle frowns, "I still think it's sad in many ways. He kept talking about things she's never experienced, never once stopping to realize that she may not have wanted to experience all those things. Maybe she just wanted a little love, another thing she probably never truly experienced. It's a shame he couldn't give her the one thing she wanted."

"Yes." Trust Kyle to analyse a story I make up on the spot.

"I like your stories about hell better."

I laugh, and Kyle smiles.

"But Kenny, why don't the characters you make up ever have names?" he asks.

I shrug, "I don't want them to become more real than they already feel."

"Oh –"

"KI-YOLEEE!" a voice yells from downstairs.

Kyle groans and sits up, yelling back, "What, Mom?"

"Come down here for a minute!"

Kyle frowns and gets out of bed. "Be right back," he says before leaving the room.

While he's gone, I take the time to take a peek around his room. It's incredibly simplistic. There are no posters of bands, like you'd usually find on the bedroom wall of a typical teenager. I guess Kyle's not all that typical though. Instead, there's a poster of Albert Einstein that says, "I have no special talents, I am only passionately curious." It's fitting. Although I wouldn't describe Kyle as talentless, he certainly is passionately curious about most things.

There is a desk, where his laptop sits, as well as a large bookshelf that is overflowing with titles and authors I've never even heard of. Vladimir Nobakov? Thomas Mann? Haruki Murakami? Phillip Zimbardo? William Faulkner? I suppose his taste in literature is more refined than most.

On the opposite side of the room sits a small television with the old okama game sphere hooked up. Kyle's a fan of the classic games from our childhood.

"Creepin'?" Kyle asks when he returns.

"Observing," I say.

He laughs, "I see. Learn anything?"

"I always do."

"That's a scary thought," he laughs, "You probably know me better than I know myself by now, then."

I grin and he sticks out his tongue.

"What did your mom want?"

"To know when you were leaving," he laughs.

"Ouch," I say, "Definitely not feelin' the love."

He shrugs, "You know how she is. She wants me to study."

"Plus, she isn't my biggest fan."

"Yeeahhhh," he says, "Oh well. Are you ready for the first day of school?"

"Ugh!" I groan, "I can't believe it starts in just a few days."

"Hey, just think… This is our last year. It'll all be over in a matter of months."

"Then university," I make a face. Though, to be honest, I probably won't be going.

"Mm!" he claps his hands together, "Would you think I'm totally lame if I said I was actually excited?"

I laugh, "Kyle, I already know you're lame."

"Hey!"

"I joke," I hold up my hands. "I know you're excited about the future. I wish I could get as excited as you."

"Oh, I'm not excited about the future at all," Kyle forces a chuckle, "Just university."

"Why?"

"It'll be easier for me. Hopefully I won't be criticized so much for being the smart kid."

"Hmm. Kyle," I say, "Do you ever think about marriage?"

"No," he mumbles.

"Why not?"

It's something that is constantly on my mind. I want it so badly, but I know I'll probably never be able to have it. At least, not with the way things are going for me now.

It would be like in that novel, _The Time Traveller's Wife_. I'd be "disappearing" all the time. For once, I want to wake up next to a warm body and have someone tell me honestly that things will be okay.

He shrugs. "I have my reasons."

"Don't wanna share 'em?"

He shakes his head, causing his bright, red curls to bounce around his face. "Not yet."

"Okay," I say, "I'll wait then."

I won't pry. I'll let Kyle keep his secrets until he's ready to share them. I'm doing the same thing, after all.


	4. KB: Pathetic

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

* * *

_My slaving, sweating the skin right off my bones  
On a bed of fire I'm choking on the smoke that fills my home_

Rage Against the Machine

**Kyle Broflovski – Pathetic**

My mother isn't a fan of Kenny. I suppose she doesn't hate him, she just doesn't have the highest opinion of him either.

She thinks he's a slacker, and his promiscuity offends her wholesome ideals and personal opinions of how a "proper young man" should act. They're unrealistic expectations. I can't even live up to them.

"Just listen to that mouth of his!" she always says, "Someone needs to wash it out with soap, because his mother certainly doesn't care enough to do it."

I always defend Kenny, or at least I try to. I don't think he's a slacker. I think he just has other things to worry about. Well, I don't think that, I know it. He has a lot on his plate, so his grades suffer.

And his promiscuity…? Well, I can't really defend that, I don't think anyone can, so I just let it those comments slide.

My mother loves Stan. She thinks he's a "nice, polite, handsome young man". She'd love it if I only hung out with kids like Stan. She thinks he is the opposite of Kenny and it really put an ache in her back when Kenny and I grew closer. It happened after Stan and Wendy's relationship grew serious. They've been on and off since we were eight years old, and everyone doubted anything would come out of it, but we were all proved wrong.

I know that I'll never lose Kenny to a girl. It just won't happen. He won't let it happen. Not that he's doing it for me, he's just not one for commitment. He just sleeps around.

He has a lot of grossly fascinating stories because of this.

Kenny likes to tell stories, whether they're deep and meaningful, or whether they go a little something like, "One time I fucked a girl under her back porch while her father was up there barbequing. He didn't notice a thing."

I hate those kinds of stories.

"Kyle," Kenny says.

I look over at him from my seat at my desk. He's sprawled out on my bed, looking lazy. "Hm?" I ask.

"Clyde's having a party tomorrow night, kind of an end of summer thing."

"Oh, really?" I ask, portraying facetious ignorance, though I know exactly where this conversation is heading. In about two seconds Kenny will invite me to come along with him.

"Yeah," he says, "You should come."

_Thought so._

I scrunch up my face. "I don't like parties, Kenny, you know that."

"I know," he smiles a bit, "You'd rather stay home reading a book with a nice cup of tea."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"But you rarely come out with us, and I think you should be more social."

"No, besides, Clyde hates me."

"No, he doesn't."

"Yeah, he really does." I can't help but laugh. I don't think Clyde ever liked me.

"Who cares? It's not like he'll even notice you there. He'll be drunk before we get there."

"There's incentive..."

"Please? Staying in all the time can't be healthy."

"I'm an introvert, it's not a bad thing."

"Please? I'll stay with you the whole night."

"Really, Kenny," I sigh, "You always say that, but what happens? Every single time you ditch me and run off to fuck some girl with big knockers."

He doesn't say anything.

"Sorry," I mumble.

He shakes his head, "No, you're right…"

He admits it, but he won't apologise because he knows there is no point. He'll keep doing it anyway, no matter how 'sorry' he is. It's almost as if he can't help himself. Sometimes, I think he probably can't. Some people are addicted to drugs; maybe this is Kenny's addiction.

It's a horrible thought and I feel even more horrible for letting it cross my mind, but maybe it's true.

"At least think about it. It might do you some good."

I shrug, "I'm content with the way I am."

Kenny gets a serious look about him and says in that all-knowing voice, "No, you're not."

"W-well, I guess there are some things I need to improve on, but…" I trail off.

"Kyle," Kenny says, "You're not perfect, and blah blah blah. No one is, but personally, if I had to pick someone who was closest, it'd be you."

I feel myself blush and I feel awkward. I don't know how to respond to him, so I just look down at my hands fidgeting on my lap.

"You deserve to be happier, so be happier," Kenny says with eyes closed, sounding almost dreamlike.

"How?" I whisper.

Kenny holds out a hand and beckons me towards him. "You'll figure things out," he says, curling his fingers around my wrist. "You always do."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"How do you know?"

"I know everything," Kenny says in a joking matter.

"Oh, right, of course," I grin. "So tell me something."

"What do you want to know?" he asks.

"Kenny, why did you let Cartman hurt you?"

He rubs the back of his head sheepishly, "So you've heard about that."

"I did."

Kenny shrugs, "He needed it Kyle."

"What?" I ask. "He _needed_ to hurt you?"

"He just needed to let it out. There were too many pent up emotions."

I raise an eyebrow. "Do you really think that helped him? Do you really think becoming his personal punching bag was the proper way to solve his emotional issues?"

"Yes," he says confidently, "I tried the 'let's talk' approach first, it didn't work. If smacking me around gave him any relief whatsoever, then I don't mind. I'd let him do it again."

I feel myself swallow, "That's really messed up, Kenny."

"Yeah, well, Eric deals with things a little differently than most people."

"And apparently you solve things a little differently than most people…" I sigh. "It just sounds so wrong."

"You might think so, but I don't."

"Well, if you insist on it. Kenny knows best, I suppose," I say.

"Kenny knows best," he agrees, referring to himself in third person.

I stifle a laugh, "Remember when he used to play Lambs?"

"Ha!" Kenny cries, "Yes!"

"_It puts the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again_," I quote. "I couldn't even watch that film…"

"God, Eric was a fucked up little kid," Kenny cringes.

I chuckle, "I think we all were. You're the one that got high off cat piss."

"Ah…" Kenny makes a face. "Let us not speak of those days!" he says dramatically.

"Yeah," I agree, "We probably shouldn't." I don't want to dig up anything that we've tried to keep buried. There are probably all kinds of dirty things we'd all rather forget about.

He sighs, "We've all been through so much in South Park. It's weird to think that most of us will be gone this time next year. We'll be off trying to make something out of ourselves."

"Mm," I say, "It's kind of sad."

"Yeah, it is. Stan will probably cry at graduation."

"Probably," I snicker.

"Where do you see yourself ten years from now?"

"Ten years from now…" I repeat, "I don't know. It's hard to imagine my future self as anything but a lawyer. It was an image that was drilled into my head since before I could speak."

"Yeah," Kenny says, sounding sympathetic.

"What about you?" I ask, honestly curious. "Where do you see yourself ten years from now?"

Kenny tends to avoid conversation about future possibilities. It's like he assumes he won't have much of a future, so there's no point in fantasizing about it.

He snorts, "I don't."

"Kenny," I frown.

"I really have no idea," he says. "I can't exactly afford to go to a good university or anything. I'll probably be flipping burgers for the rest of my life."

"No way," I say. "You should become a professional story-teller or something."

"A professional story-teller, huh?" He chuckles lightly, "That'd be nice. I want to become a writer... I'd like that a lot. I want to leave a piece of myself behind when I die. That way there will be proof that I lived. Y'know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"I really want that. I'd hate to become another gravestone that would remain unnoticed by the hundreds of people that would walk past it each day."

"Yeah, that's an upsetting thought…" I frown.

He just nods.

* * *

The day comes and goes and before I know it, Kenny's calling me and asking me if I'll go to Clyde's party. I tell him I don't want to, because I really don't. To be perfectly honest, parties frighten me and the whole atmosphere is intimidating. I can't handle my liquor well, to be quite frank, and I always end up doing something retarded. I always make a moron out of myself. I'm easily embarrassed. I'm awkward. I'm shy. I don't do well in that kind of social settings and I'm bad at hiding how uncomfortable I feel.

"Call me if you get into trouble," I say.

"Okay," he agrees. "Shoot me a text if you change your mind."

I tell him I will, even though I know I won't change my mind. He knows that too.

So here I am: in my pajamas, wrapped up in blankets and reading about the life and trial of Richard Ramirez, "The Night Stalker". It's actually pretty interesting stuff, though sick and twisted. I think Cartman would enjoy it. He is, after all, very sick and twisted himself. He'd probably appreciate Ted Bundy, Charles Manson and Jeffrey Dahmer as well…

Speaking of, I wonder if Cartman and Stan are at Clyde's party. They probably are. They're all probably drunk. Kenny's probably stoned and drunk at the same time. He'll probably throw up at some point. He might even drunk-dial me. He does that often…

Fortunately, Kenny refuses to spend what little money he has on things like drugs and alcohol. He usually cons others into paying for him, or allowing him to bum off of him. I think that's the only reason he hangs out with Craig Tucker. Craig always has _something_ on him and if he's high or drunk enough he's willing to share.

Cartman doesn't do drugs, according to him, only hippies do drugs and we all know how much he hates hippies.

And Stan? Stan can't do drugs. I think the football team does drug testing and Stan would never forgive himself if he got kicked off the team…

I don't want to sound like a lame anti-drug commercial… but drugs aren't worth it. I wish people would understand that. I wish Kenny would understand that.

I put the book down. Suddenly I don't feel like reading anymore.

I wonder what Kenny's doing right now.

Well… I wonder who he's fucking, because I know that's what he's doing.

I bet it's a girl like the ones in his magazine.

Those fucking magazines…

I can picture Kenny furiously pumping his cock while staring at photos of those busty women with perfect shapes. I can picture it because I've seen it firsthand. Kenny isn't shy, he just laughed it off.

"Knock next time, dude," he had said. It was the first time I had witnessed something that intimate, excluding what I've seen through my computer screen.

With my heart palpitating, I left the room and let him finish. My face was probably beet-red and I tried not to listen, I really did, but he wasn't exactly quiet. It was almost like he wanted me to hear what he was doing on the other side of the door. I wondered if those were the sounds he made when he fucked all those girls or maybe he was giving me a private show. He likes to fuck with me like that.

When he was done, he let me back in and then the day continued the way it normally would.

I can clearly see the girl he's about to sleep with: a conventionally pretty face and big tits, Kenny's favorite part. Maybe she's a brunette, maybe blonde. She'll approach him. She'll touch him in places and he'll say, "Oh, you don't play around, huh? I like that." Then they'll find a room and he'll fuck her good and proper. It'll be the best fuck she's ever had. She'll want it again, but he'll say no because Kenny McCormick doesn't fuck the same girl twice.

It makes me jealous. I hate it. More than I'd like to admit, I find myself wishing that I could be the one to replace those girls. I wish it was me he was fucking.

But at the same time, I don't because I know after it ended he would move onto a new conquest. I would just have been another pair of curious lips looking to get a taste of the infamously scandalous McCormick boy. In his eyes, I'd probably be just another number on his list of fucks.

I'm so fucking pathetic…


	5. KM: Anything for you

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**This story might get a little dark. I hope you're all as twisted as I am. Also, I changed the title. It used to be "Hello, Goodbye" but that was just the working title. Enjoy! R&R.**

* * *

_Some nights are made for torture, or reflection, or the savouring of loneliness._

Poppy Z. Brite

**Kenny McCormick – I'd do anything for you**

Craig is such an asshole. Why do I even hang out with him?

If you ask anyone they'd probably say it's because Craig Tucker always has drugs, and Kenny McCormick will do anything for a fix.

Well, I suppose there is some truth to that statement, though I'm not as desperate as everyone makes me out to be. I'm no junkie.

"Suck my dick, Tucker," I mumble.

He snorts, "You wish, McCormick."

"No way," I shudder dramatically, "I wouldn't want your crooked teeth around my cock."

Rolling his tongue over his teeth, he says, "They aren't that bad."

"You can pay to get that mess fixed, y'know."

He shakes his head, "Just shut the fuck up, man, I'm five seconds away from kicking your face in. Then you'll be the one in need of braces."

I stand up, stumbling slightly. "Do it," I say, waving him forward, "Come on, let's fight, bet I could kick your stupid ass."

"You're drunk."

"So are you."

He stands up and immediately falls forward. I laugh, and he glares. To be perfectly honest, I don't even remember why we started arguing. It always happens like this. I guess if either of us remembered half the shit we said to each other we probably wouldn't still be friends.

"We're too drunk for this, dude," he says. "Seriously, just sit the fuck back down before you throw up."

"If I do, I'll be sure to do it on you," I say, purposely and dramatically dry-heaving in his direction.

"Gross, man. Not cool."

I just grin, sitting back on the floor.

"Heh," he laughs, "Remember the time you threw up in class?"

Ah… good times.

"Yeah," I laugh with him.

"That was so fucking retarded."

"It was perfect, man."

"It kind of was."

"It was one of my shining moments."

I have a very insistent gag reflex.

I discovered it while I once tried to see how far I could fit a dildo down my throat. I suppose it was mostly out of curiosity. I ended up accidentally barfing all over myself. It was pretty funny at the time, but it's even funnier looking back on it.

After learning about my insistent gag reflex I decided to use it to my advantage. The next time I got kicked out of class and sent to the principal's office, I stopped at the door, stuck my fingers down my throat and puked all over the floor before walking out. I was the talk of the school for the entire week. Everyone wanted to know what "that crazy Kenny kid" would do next. I never disappoint. It's part of the façade I created. I have a complete lack of shame.

"Imagine…" he slurs, "If everyone was forced to say every single thing that crossed their mind."

"That would fucking suck," I say.

He laughs. "It would, but it would also be funny. Imagine some of the shit that would come out of Eric Cartman's mouth."

"Jesus Christ, I don't even want to imagine that."

He laughs harder.

"Everyone's secrets… wouldn't be secrets anymore."

"That's a scary thought," I cringe, because really, it is. Imagine some of the shit kids would be spouting. I wouldn't want to be part of it. I firmly believe there is such a thing as too much honesty.

But the funny thing is, I already know so many secrets. Even about Craig.

As a kid, I spent a lot of time off to the side. No one really paid attention to me, and it was fine that way. I kept myself at a distance, wrapped up in my old orange parka. To be honest, I was a bit of a wallflower back then, but I was still seeing everything. I can probably tell you things about people that they don't even know about themselves.

Craig Tucker is in love. He won't admit it, but it's written all over every inch of his being.

Eric Cartman feeds off of Kyle's anger. He is the only person who can get Kyle so riled up. Kyle's voice is now permanently hoarse because he spent the majority of his childhood screaming at Eric.

Kyle goes around saying it's okay to cry, it's okay to scream, but he won't practise what he preaches. Because of this, I think Eric is the perfect outlet for him. If it wasn't for Eric, Kyle would probably have so many bottled up emotions he'd be bursting at the seams. Being the son of Sheila and Gerald Broflovski is tough, I'm sure. He has to uphold this facetious image of perfection. There are no room for flaws in that house-hold. Being around Eric over the years has allowed Kyle many opportunities to let loose, throw his fists, scream his lungs out, and cry as hard as he wants.

I think I'm the only person who would look at it like that. Stan just gets frustrated when he's forced to listen to them fight, seeing no positivity in it. He is always the mediator, while I just let them fight all they want.

Stan doesn't really think too deeply on most things. He's too busy following Wendy's every command.

Speaking of Wendy Testaberger, she has a very exciting secret that she's been desperately trying to hide. I hope I'm around when it gets revealed.

But these are secrets that don't belong to me, so I should probably act like I am unaware of them.

"Anyway man," I say, trying to stand up, "I'm going home."

"It's 2AM, man, just crash here," Craig suggests, "You'll probably get arrested or something once you leave. Barbrady gets off on arresting drunken kids, I swear."

"I can out-run him."

"Even drunk?"

"Probably. He's a fat fuck, he can't even run, he waddles. He's also dumb as shit."

"Suit yourself," he shrugs and I stumble out the door.

Trying to leave the house is like going through a maze of unconscious bodies, or people too drunk to function. I can't really judge though, I've been there and done that just last week.

I zip up my jacket before going outside. It's late, and I'm sure the wind has picked up even more since the sun has gone down.

I live on the poor part of down, or "in the ghetto" as Eric would say, so unfortunately I am in for quite the walk.

I put my hood up and tighten the drawstrings.

_Tap, tap._

Maybe it's my paranoia acting up, but I feel like I'm being followed, I turn around and sure enough, there are a couple of nasty looking guys a few meters behind me.

"What the fuck do you want?" I ask as they continue to walk towards me. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish they didn't because I am now staring at two guys who probably have a hundred pounds each on me.

One of them pulls out a switch blade and I duck just in time, but I still catch the metallic glint of it and that quick sound of the air being sliced in half.

Ugh, I'm too drunk for this.

"What the fuck!" I yell as I'm shoved against a hard, brick wall.

"G-Give us your wallet," the other one stutters.

Oh, how quaint. A good old fashioned mugging. Haven't had one of those in quite a while.

"You are new to this, aren't you?" I mock, unable to help myself, though it's probably not the smartest thing to do in this sort of situation.

"Do as he says," the one with the switchblade says gruffly.

"I don't have a wallet, man," I say. It's the truth. I've never carried around a wallet.

Jesus Christ. The new day has barely started; I don't want to die when I haven't even been alive for a 24 hours. I feel sick and my gag reflex wants to react but I try to keep it in my stomach although I'm terrified. My heavy breaths betray me.

The two muggers laugh.

"Scared, baby?" the guy with the switchblade coos, pressing the blade against my throat. I swallow harshly and feel the sharpness.

"What do you want?" I croak, my mouth going dry. "I told you I don't have a wallet."

I feel the sharp blade press deeper into my neck, breaking the skin deeper and deeper until –

"Back so soon, McCormick?"

Fucking fuckity fuck.

I hate knowing that so many of my last moments belonged to the people that killed me. So many people in South Park have blood on their hands, and I bet I could name most of them because so many of them have had their way with me.

It never does get any easier.

"Hello, Damien," I say, gritting my teeth in anger.

I really do understand why alcoholics don't stop. I think if I could live long enough to develop an addiction I probably would. I suppose there is a pro to my constant trips to hell.

I certainly can't deny that I'm a bit of a deviant, but unlike the men that murder me, I'm pretty harmless with my ways.

* * *

It's almost noon and I just woke up mere minutes ago, now I'm standing in front of the mirror in our dingy upstairs bathroom.

When I was younger, I would practise smiling in this very mirror. Whether anyone chooses to believe it or not, I was really awkward with myself and had low self-esteem. That's another reason I kept myself covered up in that big, orange parka. I preferred to go unseen.

Sometimes, even now, when I'm washing my hands or something I can't help but look up at the mirror and smile just to see what it looks like because I can never remember. It's always one of those horribly fake smiles. I cannot truly smile when I'm with myself, but I find it an easy and almost unconscious thing to do when I'm among other people, even people I don't particularly enjoy being around. I think that, when I want to be, I am a truly fantastic actor. I can lie to them, but I cannot lie to myself and that's probably why I can't pretend to smile in a mirror.

"Kenny?"

I look behind me and see Karen rubbing her tired eyes.

"Hey," I smile at her.

She smiles back, but sobers quickly. "You were out late last night again."

"Yeah, sorry, kiddo," I say, ruffling her hair.

She playfully smacks my hand away. "What were you doing?"

"I was at work," I say. It's a lie, but I don't really want her to know the truth.

"Oh," she says, "Can't they give you a break?"

I shrug, "It's all right, it's really not all that bad."

She frowns, not believing a word of it.

"I have something for you," I say, changing the subject. I take her by the shoulders and leader her to my room, sifting through the drawers in my closet.

"Here," I say handing her a fifty dollar bill I just dug out. I need to hide my money because of my dad. He'd take it without blinking an eye and spend it all on drugs.

Karen slowly brings her hand up to take it, wide eyed. "Kenny… Are you sure?"

I nod, "Tomorrow's the first day of school. Take Ruby and go to the mall today, buy yourself a nice dress or something."

She wraps her arms around my waist. "Thank you, Kenny," she muffles into my shirt.

I return the hug, "Anything for you, Karen. You know that."

She squeezes harder before letting go and gives me another smile before returning to her own bedroom to get ready for the day.

I love Karen, and she is the reason I do the things that I do.

I want to protect her. I want to keep her safe, and that is why she can't know where I got that money.

If she knew, it would only hurt her more.


	6. EC: I'm just being honest

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**Yes, yes, I know Cartman is so OOC. I just like to imagine he's grown up a bit since his silly childish antics, so don't complain. I personally like the idea of a muscular Cartman.  
**

* * *

_Looking at me like I killed Kenny  
Gassing the tank near steal plenty  
No morals are instilled in me  
So remorse? I really don't feel any  
Eat your heart out, Hannibal  
Understandable why you're jealous, fucking animal  
I got cannibal magnetism, can't resist him now, can yah ho?_

Eminem

**Eric Cartman – I'm just being honest**

"_Stop, Eric!" Kenny throws his hands over his face in a sad last attempt at protecting himself while Stan stands helplessly in the background, unsure of what to do.  
_

"_Cartman, stop, please! You're going to kill him!" Stan cries, continuing to shout more words that won't make a difference._

Contrary to popular belief, I am not insane. I'm not. I could probably control my actions, if I wanted to. I just choose not to. I'm angry when things don't go my way and I allow my emotions get the best of me. Emphasis on the word "allow".

I let it happen and maybe I'm not an asshole. Well, okay, I totally am… but let's just say I'm not as bad as everyone thinks. Maybe I'm just honest at times and some people don't like to hear the truth.

Then again, I'm the same way. I don't like to hear the truth, at least, not when it pertains to me.

That's why I beat Kenny up. He just had to run his mouth and tell me things I didn't want to hear.

I didn't stop; I just kept hitting him and hitting him until he was still. I think I even hit him after that. I thought I killed him, but I didn't care. He'd come back anyway.

I knew Kenny would forgive me. That's why I kept hurting him.

Sounds bad, doesn't it?

Well, like I admitted, I'm kind of an asshole.

I guess I could have handled it differently. I could have told Kenny things he didn't want to hear about himself. I could have beaten him at his own game.

I could have told Kenny that I know he wants more than a one night stand. He wants more than a hole and a pair of tits to slap around. Actually, he doesn't want it, I think he needs it. He needs some stability in his life.

Kenny is lonely, but at the same time he doesn't want anyone to see past what hangs between his legs. That would mean that someone is seeing Kenny for who he truly is and I think that is a possibility that scares him, though he would never admit it.

It's easy to let someone rip your clothes off and toss them across the room. We all do it. It's called sex. Sex is easy, but opening your heart and all that gay shit… that isn't so easy. He denies it with every fiber of his being, but I think he secretly wants some of that if-your-a-bird-I'm-a-bird bullshit.

Kenny is the type of person who holds onto what he has and thinks it's right, even when it starts to hurt him. He claims to have no shame, and goes through embarrassment after embarrassment as easily as he can.

Through the years I've discovered that many people pretend to be okay, though they're not. Kenny is one of those people.

Kenny is the type of person who doesn't want to make himself vulnerable. "Why bother opening up to anyone? The moment you do, it all goes downhill."

I guess he is kind of like me.

* * *

Today is the first day of our senior year. Kyle is excited about it, but no one else really gives a shit. The year has just started and everyone already wants it to be over.

"I can't wait to see what kind of work we'll be getting," he says, proving just how lame he really is.

"What a Jew thing to say," I laugh, causing him to screech wildly in that annoying, hoarse voice of his.

The day has barely started and I've already managed to get him this fired up. I think it's his time of the month. "Take the tampon out of your ass and chill out, Kahl. Jesus Christ."

"Kyle, dude, you set yourself up for that one," Stan says.

I swear, watching Stan and Kyle fight is better than reality television. Unfortunately, it doesn't happen so much these days. I kind of wish it did.

So with his temper tamed by his super-best-butt-buddy, Kyle mumbles a final insult, "Fatass."

"Ay! I ain't fat."

"Yeah," Stan grins, "_Anymore_. Come on, Cartman, you have to admit you were a seriously fat kid."

"Shut up, hippie."

Stan grins wider, and I know I lost. Everyone knows that "shut up" is the lamest comeback ever.

I grit my teeth together and stay silent.

"How was Clyde's party, anyhow?" Kyle asks.

"Eh, it was all right," Stan shrugs.

"Yeah," Kenny agrees.

"It was fucking lame," I say, giving my own input.

"Well, you think everything is fucking lame," Kenny rolls his eyes.

"Because it usually is."

"No, you're just hard to please."

"Whatever," I mumble. I think this is the first time I've spoken to Kenny since kicking his face in.

"You should come to Bebe's this Friday," Kenny says to Kyle, who just rolls his eyes.

"We'll see, Ken," he replies.

"She's having a party?" Stan asks.

"Yeah," Kenny nods, "Her parties are usually pretty sweet. Gonna tag along?"

"Not this time," Stan grins, "I have a date with Wendy on Friday night."

"Oooh," Kenny wiggles his eyebrows and Stan laughs.

We take our seats in homeroom and the teacher makes us all do pointless introduction game where we say our name and then say something about ourselves.

When it's Kyle's turn, he stands up and starts, "I'm Kyle Broflovski, and I –"

"Am a dirty Jew," I interrupt, causing him to flush with stifled anger.

"I'm Kyle Broflovski and I hate Eric Cartman," he grits out before sitting back down. He crosses his arms over his chest and slumps.

I'm directly after and I say, "I'm Eric Cartman, and I hate Kyle Broflovski."

From my peripheral vision I can see Stan pinching the bridge of his nose, and Kenny laughing. They're used to this, so are many of the kids in the class; however, the teacher looks far less amused.

"Well then," she says, pushing her glasses up her nose.

We are currently in health class. The teacher, Ms. Whatever-Her-Name-Is, gets straight down to business after doing introductions. The first unit is dieting. The professor keeps mentioning obesity and I can't help but remember my own childhood. Yeah, I don't admit it to anyone, but I did used to be fat. I wasn't "big boned" or any of that bullshit. I was fat, but I'm not now.

I also can't help but peek over at the overweight girl, Lorraine. I think she knows.

I'm glad that isn't me anymore.

Once looks started to matter I knew I had to take control of myself. I won't admit this to anyone either, but I'm pretty proud of myself. Who ever thought I'd be able to exhibit that much self-control? Truthfully… I, for one, didn't.

I remember looking at myself in the mirror and for the first time, thinking I did good. Real good.

But these thoughts are mine. I don't share them. I don't want anyone calling me out on how gay I sound.

* * *

The day continued the way I knew it would. It was incredibly dull, full of too many introductions.

Now I'm home, procrastinating by looking up morbid shit on the internet.

Who gives homework on the first day back, anyway? Fuck.

Sometimes I'll spend hours looking at sick shit on the internet. Dead bodies, weird diseases, you name it. I'm not talking about the movie type of dead bodies either, but real photos of the rotting, bloody, and mutilated remains of what was once a human. Interesting stuff.

I remember Kyle yelling at me on various occasions after seeing my laptop screen and all the gory images I'd been looking through and reading about.

"_Oh my God! That's horrible, Cartman!" _he'd say from behind me, sounding especially shrill.

Kyle is such a girly-fag. To be honest, I think he probably will end up taking it up the ass someday, but that's beside the point.

Kyle is going to crack. Sooner or later, it's going to happen. He is one of the fakest people I know. He might even be faker than Kenny…

Actually, no.

Definitely not.

No one is faker than Kenny, but Kyle might be a close second. He's too busy trying to make everyone else happy, he completely forgets about himself. He's too busy trying to impress his mother, pretending to be the perfect kid… He's probably forgotten who he really is.

He pisses me off. I hate people who lie to themselves. I hate them. I think that is why I act the way I do towards him.

And sure, maybe I used to lie to myself too and maybe that's why I used to hate myself so much. Kyle probably hates himself too.

Anyway.

Thinking about Kyle this much can't be healthy.

I'm going to bed.

* * *

**Deep thoughts by Eric Cartman. You know what's so funny? I watch South Park with my mum and sissy and my mum thinks that Eric is super gay for Kyle. My sister is also a big Kyman shipper. The sixteenth season is making all the Kyman fans happy, I bet. **


	7. KB: Here's to us

**South ****Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**I changed the title again because I just wasn't satisfied. That was the last time, I promise.  
**

* * *

_I'm wondering why you clutch your left  
Is that heart of yours still beating?_

Yunyu

**Kyle Broflovski – Here's to us  
**

It is Thursday night.

Thursday!

Not Friday, and not Saturday… It's fucking Thursday and I just got a call from a ridiculously drunk Kenny McCormick. He could barely get two words in. Craig Tucker had to do the rest of the talking for him and let me know that Kenny was indisposed. Not that I couldn't tell myself.

"You better pick 'im up, man, he's pretty fuckin' wasted," Craig had said, "he can barely stand."

It's 11:54 PM. Almost a new day.

I got the call a few minutes ago and had to sneak out of the house with my dad's car keys. I don't even want to think about what could happen if I'm caught.

I park the car on the side of the road and make my way into park woods.

What the fuck are they even doing all the way out here?

"Kyle!" Kenny screams when he spots me, tugging on Craig's jacket. "Look, guys, it's Kyle!"

Craig and a bunch of people I don't know look my way, some nod, some wave, and others just ignore me. Kenny is hanging off of Craig's arm, looking like he just drank a bottle of moonshine. I wouldn't put it past him.

Craig has his gaze fixated on the ground, holding a cigarette in the hand opposite to the one Kenny is hanging off of. He taps the cigarette in between his fingers, watching the bits of crumpled ash fall lightly onto the ground. You can tell he's trying to stifle laughter.

By the looks of it, it seems as though Kenny is the only drunk one. I wonder if they planned this. They probably thought it'd be funny to fuck with him.

"Let's hold hands and skip, Kyle!" He says enthusiastically, letting go of Craig and latching onto me while simultaneously tripping over his own feet. Craig snickers, unable to keep it in any longer.

"Let's not," I say dryly, dragging him away from the crowd of laughing teenagers.

"Why not?" Kenny whines drunkenly, shaking my arm.

"Just try not to puke," I mumble, "or fall."

"What should I do?" Kenny asks, suddenly looking like a child asking for an adult's help.

"What do you mean?" I ask, uncurling his fingers from the fabric of my coat and warming his hand in my gloved palms.

"What should I do, Kyle?" he asks again.

"Just… try to stay awake. I'll get you some crackers once we get to my place... or maybe a bucket to puke in. Try and distract yourself for now."

"How?"

"I don't know, however you want. Just don't pass out. I'm not strong enough to carry you all the way to the car."

"Ay, don't call me fat!" he says, mimicking Cartman.

I give a short laugh, "You're fit, definitely the opposite of fat."

He grins.

A stray cat screams in the distance as Kenny hunches over, vomiting on the sidewalk.

I sigh, looking up at the moon.

Well, then... Here's to us, here's to us.

* * *

I drove home, with Kenny sitting in the passenger seat, drunkenly humming along to the radio. Kenny surprised us all by playing at the last coffee house in our eleventh year. He sang Pink Floyd's "Hey You". It was really good. None of us knew he had a voice like that. I guess Kenny really is full of secrets. Some good, and some not.

"Are you mad at me, Kyle?" he asks in a whiny, drunken voice once we arrive back to my house.

"No," I grit out as I help but up the stairs. "Now be quiet, I don't want to wake my parents and give them another reason to think poorly of you."

"Are you sure? You sound mad," he says, ignoring my warning.

"I'm not mad," I say, even though I kind of am; however, I know that admitting it to him wouldn't do any good. He's too drunk for apologies.

Once we're in my room I help him onto the bed and take his shoes off.

"You tryin' to get me naked?" he jokes.

"No, Kenny," I sigh, trying to remain patient.

"Everyone's always tryin' t'get me naked," he mumbles, laying back.

"What?" I frown.

"Ugh," he sits back up, "I think I'm gonna hurl again."

"Fuck," I hiss under my breath, running into the bathroom to fetch the mop bucket.

When I return, Kenny is holding a hand over his mouth with his eyes squeezed shut.

"Here," I hand him the mop bucket, "If you need to puke, do it in that and try not to be loud."

"Ugh," he groans again, drooling into the bucket.

I sit down next to him.

"I feel like shit…" he rasps, lifting his head.

"I bet," I say, rubbing his back, "Now what the fuck happened tonight? You never get this wasted."

He shakes his head. His whole body trembles and I feel the muscles in his back seize before he begins to release the contents of his stomach into the bucket.

"You're a quiet puker…" I comment.

He laughs bitterly, "I'm also an idiot."

"I won't disagree with that. This isn't healthy one bit, you know. It's not even the weekend yet. You'll get a bad liver before you're thirty."

He scoffs, "Impossible. I'm fuckin' invincible."

"No one is invincible, Kenny."

"I am."

"No, you're not," I say dryly.

"But I am!" he says.

I roll my eyes, "Are you done throwing up?"

"I think so."

"Have you eaten anything today?" I ask him after washing out the barf-bucket in the bathroom.

"Yes."

"Don't lie to me. That's probably why you got so disgustingly drunk. There was nothing in your stomach except the alcohol."

Kenny exhales, rubbing his eyes, "I'm tired, Kyle."

"Okay," I whisper, lying down beside him.

* * *

"So, how hung over are you?" I ask Kenny, who pulls the blankets above his head and groans in response.

I laugh, "I'll take that as a 'very'."

He pulls the blanket below his chin and gives me a dry look.

"Don't look at me like that," I say, "You're the one who got shitfaced on a school day. Can I ask why?"

"I don't even know why I did it. I bet if I didn't puke so much I'd still be drunk."

"Probably. Why wasn't anyone else drunk?"

"They wanted to fuck with me. They thought it would be funny."

"Did they, like, do anything to you?"

Kenny shook his head, "Craig's an asshole, but he wouldn't let anyone do any serious harm to me."

"Who were they?"

"Kids that go to the community college."

"Oh, why were you hanging out with them? I didn't think you knew college students."

"I don't, Craig does," he shrugs, "Kyle, I didn't mean to get that drunk. Sorry I had to mess up your night."

"It's fine, Kenny."

"It's not."

I shake my head, "Don't worry about it."

"I wouldn't hold it against you if you were pissed."

"I know you wouldn't, but I'm not."

"Okay," he closes his eyes. "You know, Kevin once walked in on me jacking off," he says.

"What…?"

"I told him to get the fuck out, but he didn't."

"Kenny –" I start, but he interrupts.

"He just kinda stared at the wall with his mouth open." He laughs awkwardly, "Not in a surprised sort of way, but in a way where it looked like he was really drugged up. He was, I'm sure."

"Kenny, why are you telling me this?"

"It was fuckin' weird, man," he continues, ignoring me once again.

I feel my eyebrows draw together. "Yeah..."

"He just kept staring, I don't even know for how long," he scrunches up his face like he's about to cry, but doesn't because Kenny McCormick never cries. "When he snapped out of it he got really angry. Jus' started yelling and throwing my shit around the room. I tried to leave, but he grabbed me, pinned me and started choking me."

"What…? He's your brother…"

"Yeah, well… He's also a violent psychopath," he shrugs, bringing a hand to his neck, the action looking almost unconscious.

"How did you get away?"

Kenny shrugs. "He was really high and probably didn't even know who I was, but still… He got arrested a few days after that little incident. Drug stuff. I wasn't sad to see him go."

"I bet."

"I'm really… really glad he's gone."

"Horrible…"

"You know how we McCormick's are," he frowns, "Not exactly a tight family bond."

"You and Karen are close."

"Karen is an exception. She's always the exception."

"Kenny, why are you telling me all of this stuff? You hardly speak about things like this," I say carefully.

"I don't know," he admits, "Maybe I'm not as sober as I thought."

"Maybe," I say, though I doubt that's the case. I think he just wants to talk and is looking for an excuse to. Through the years I've discovered that when Kenny feels weak he tends to speak about his bad personal experiences. It doesn't happen often. I think Kenny tries to avoid people when he's feeling weak.

"Kenny, you can talk to me," I tell him.

"Yeah," is all he says.

I frown.

"Come on, Kyle, let's go to school."

"Think you'll be able to make it through the day?"

Kenny laughs, "We'll see."


	8. KM: Well that was easy

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

* * *

_I try to stay subtle in all my neighbours drama  
They're tellin' the police that I'm growing marajuana  
Thanks, yah lyin' punk bitch ass wipe  
Pricks come and go every day that's life  
And truth be told many other episodes occurred  
But you ain't worth my time for a full verse  
Shit, I'd forgive, but I never will forget._

Classified

**Kenny McCormick – Well that was easy**

We're sitting in math class and I feel like I'm going to barf all over myself.

Kyle says it's my own fault, which it is. I can't really argue with that. I got pretty damn drunk last night.

Why?

I don't know. I really don't. I suppose I was just feeling down. I should know better by now that alcohol doesn't solve anything. That is one of the only things my parents taught me.

Jesus Christ, I'm an idiot sometimes.

Oh well. What's done is done.

It's already Friday. Time seems to be going by so fast these days. It almost feels unrealistic.

I wonder if I'll be able to die of old age, or if I'll just keep coming back even after that.

It reminds me of something Craig once said: "Someday I'll be dead and so will you. Could be fifty years, could be tomorrow. It is fucked up to think about. Someday everything we ever were will cease to exist."

It was tomorrow for me and I suppose that, in that brief moment, everything I was did cease to exist here.

Life doesn't stop, not for anyone...

I don't really like to think about things like that, though.

"You okay?" Stan nudges me once we settle at our desks.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure? You look sick."

I shrug, "I'm a little nauseous, but it's okay."

I don't really feel like explaining to Stan the reason I'm nauseous. He'd just think I was shitty.

"You look like ass," Eric says as he sits down. He looks like he just stepped out of an LL Bean catalogue, like usual.

But enough of that meaningless stuff… Today I have a mission.

I'm going to try and get Kyle to come to a party with me. Bebe's party, to be specific, so you can tell it's going to be more than just another high school party. Bebe's throws the kinds of parties that people will still be talking about months after it happened.

Kyle looked pretty sour last time, having to listen to everyone tell him what he missed out on.

So really, it's for his own good that he comes!

* * *

"Hey, fellas!" Butter says sitting down at the cafeteria table Eric and I are currently occupying.

I have my second period off on Fridays. I usually spend it with Eric, listening to him rag on Kyle and other kids he claims to hate, but things have been pretty tense lately.

"Hey, Butters," I say, offering him a smile as he begins to eat his hamburger.

"Fag," Eric says, greeting him in his own way.

"Come on, that wasn't called for."

"Faaaag," Eric repeats before getting up to leave.

"I guess we're not cool enough for him," I joke, enticing innocent laughter from the livelier blond.

I have a bit of a soft spot for Butters. Don't ask why. Maybe it's from when we used to play superheroes. He was never good at being the bad guy…

Maybe it's because I accidentally hit him in the face with a shuriken when we were younger… I still feel guilty about that, but I did say I was sorry.

Or maybe I just feel bad for Butters in general because everyone seems to pick on him. He doesn't really deserve it.

Well, either way.

"Butters," I say, "You shouldn't take his shit."

"It's okay!" Butters grins, chipper as ever.

"It's not though..."

"Eric doesn't mean it."

"It doesn't matter, it's still cruel. You should stand up for yourself."

"Oh, no," he shakes his head repeatedly, waving around his hands.

"Why not?"

"Don't you remember fourth grade?"

"Oh," I frown.

Fourth fucking grade. I guess Stan's anti-bullying video really screwed Butters over.

"It's really okay, Kenny," he says. "I don't mind it."

I smile a bit, "That's good, Butters. You're a stronger person than I am."

"Aw, I wouldn't say that."

"No, it's true…"

Butters tilts his head, looking at me with doe-eyes.

"I'm not strong at all…" I mumble.

"Sure you are!" he says, putting a hand on my arm. "You're one of the toughest guys I know!"

I smile a bit at his effort to cheer me up. "Thanks."

When I say I'm not strong, I'm not talking about physicality. I suppose, physically speaking, I can handle myself depending on the situation… however, mentally it is a different story.

I used to be able to handle a lot, but over the years things have kept piling.

More than anything, I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired. I mean it. I'm tired of breathing, and I'm tired of not breathing. Life and death seem to blend together so grossly well these days.

"Did you eat today, Kenny?"

"Yeah," I say, though it's a lie Butters doesn't believe. So much for naivety.

"I can buy you something?"

"No, it's fine. I already ate, don't worry."

He gives me a look that says he doesn't quite believe me, but I don't care. I'm not about to say that I can't afford to spend a few bucks on a sandwich or reveal that I'm actually fighting the urge to vomit as we speak.

"I'll see you around, Butters," I say before standing up and leaving the lunch room.

I make my way to the boys' bathrooms, kneeling in front of the toilet and drooling into the bowl. How ugly.

Maybe I'll feel better if I just hurl already.

I stick my fingers down my throat, trying to excite my gag reflex. I dry heave a few times before eventually dumping my guts out in the toilet. Kyle was right, I am a pretty silent puker.

"Kenny?" I hear from the next stall over.

Ah, fuck me.

"What, Craig?" I groan, wiping my spitty hands on my jeans.

"You okay, man?" he asks. I hear him step out of the stall he was occupying to stand in front of the one I'm currently in.

"Dude, do I sound okay?"

"Unlock it," he says, shaking the door so the lock rattles.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Jesus Christ, just open the fucking door."

I groan, reaching up to slide the lock back, allowing Craig to come in.

"Wow, aren't you a sight to see," he says, raking over me. "You look like shit."

"Shut up," I say miserably, convulsing before throwing up some more.

"Nasty, dude. You look and sound like you are about to keel over and die on the spot."

"Gee, thanks," I say, spitting into the toilet bowl.

"I'm so grossed out right now," he laughs.

"Then why the fuck did you want to come in here so badly? Does my pain and humiliation turn you on?"

"Ooh, funny boy," Craig says dryly, smacking me on the back and causing me to fall into a fit of wet coughs.

"Craig's a sadist," I whine dramatically, "Craig wants to see me in pain!"

He just rolls his eyes at me.

"What were you doing in here anyway?" I ask.

"Having a cigarette," he says, "It's too cold outside."

"Oh," I mumble, "I thought I smelled cigarettes."

It's actually my fault Craig smokes.

I used to bum cigarettes off of the older kids when I was twelve and one year later, I was the one to get him into the habit.

"_Can I try that?"_ he had asked, sitting beside me on the cement staircase at the back exit of the middle school. We hadn't really been friends at that point. I think this is what started it all.

I nodded. "_I'm gonna shotgun it to you."_

"_What's that?"_

"_You'll see."_

I knelt between his legs on the step below and grabbed his jaw, steadying it with the hand that wasn't holding the cigarette. _"Inhale this,_" I told him, sucking in the tobacco and then blowing the smoke into Craig's mouth.

He didn't cough. That impressed me.

"Are you finished?"

I take a slow breath. "I think so…"

"Okay," he says, "Wipe your mouth off, you have puke all over your chin. And hurry, or we're going to be late for class."

"Since when do you care about being late?" I ask as I wipe the puke of my chin with a piece of toilet paper.

"If I'm late again I get suspended."

"Sucks to be you."

* * *

We're in history right now. It's one of the few classes I have with Kyle. He took most of the advanced classes, since he's a smarty. He insists history is his weakest subject, yet he's still the best in the class.

Bill, Terrance, and Foss are constantly insulting him under their breath because of this. Sometimes Clyde joins them, much to my annoyance.

We're studying the holocaust and Eric is having a field day whispering taunts to Kyle, who is trying desperately to ignore.

I nudge Eric, "Stop ragging on him, man."

"He's asking for it."

"How is he asking for it?"

"By being Jewish."

I roll my eyes. "That makes so much sense," I say sarcastically.

I suppose it's okay. Kyle can handle himself. He's been at the ass-end of Eric's Jew jokes since as long as any of us can remember. As I always say, it does him good to be able to yell without filters.

* * *

"Kyle, want to come to Bebe's party with me?" I ask, poking him in the shoulder multiple times.

School is out and it's the weekend, meaning Bebe's big party is just hours away.

"No," he replies dryly without sparing a glance my way.

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Okay."

"Really?"

"No."

"Aw…"

"Just kidding," he says, finally looking at me. "I'll come."

"Really?" I ask suspiciously.

"Really," he confirms.

"Well that was… much easier than I thought it would be."

Kyle shrugs, but doesn't say anything.


	9. KB: This is why I don't party

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**I had fun with this chapter.  
**

**Chapter warning: sexual content ahead, be careful.  
**

* * *

_Now they're going to bed and my stomach is sick  
And it's all in my head but she's touching his chest now  
He takes off her dress now, let me go  
And I just can't look its killing me  
And taking control  
Jealousy, turning saints into the sea  
Swimming through sick lullabies  
Choking on your alibis_

The killers

**Kyle Broflovski – This is why I don't party**

I am indecisive. I've always been indecisive. Whenever I'm asked what it is that I want I can never really put it into words. Maybe it's because I don't know what I want, or some things are hard to put into words.

I don't really like to go to parties, as I've said many times, especially parties such as this one. Kenny has told me stories, though. Stories that have sounded fucking marvellous. It never is as great as he makes it sound.

"Please," he had said to me just hours prior.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

It had continued like that until I relented, which wasn't long on my behalf. So here I am, at a party. Will I regret it? Probably.

Inevitably, by now Kenny has ditched me and I know exactly what he's doing. It's annoying. I wanted to keep an eye on him, hence why I agreed to come in the first place. I'm worried about him lately. He seems like he's growing more detached as the days pass and I didn't want him to have a repeat of Thursday night.

Minutes after we walked through the doors, he ran off with some big-breasted girl that hangs out with Bebe and Wendy. She was practically dry humping him at the entrance. Right about now they're probably fucking like wild rabbits.

I want to be mad at him, but I can't. He was drunk before the party even started and now I'm drunk too.

I make my way down the hallway to try and get away from the crowd. A low, guttural moan emerges from one of the doors I walk past and I laugh, secretly wondering if it's Kenny in there, and secretly hoping it's not.

Kids these days… I often forget that I, myself, am one.

I saunter up the stairs, stumbling past more drunken kids. They all look completely retarded and I can't help but wonder if I look as stupid as they do. Probably.

One of the kids I walk past has his erect dick stuck out of his pants, displayed for the entire room to see. "Look at this shit right here, I got it pierced the a few days ago!" I hear him say.

I avert my eyes and sit down at the top of the stairs.

"You look like you're feeling good," a deep, nasally voice says from behind me.

I bend my head back and see Craig Tucker.

"Oh, uh, you too," I tell him as I turn to face him, because it's all I really can say at a time like this.

He shrugs and smiles a bit. As he draws closer I can see that his eyes are a little bloodshot. He's probably stoned, which explains why he's talking to me.

"I didn't think you came to parties," he says, sitting next to me.

"I usually don't, but Kenny dragged me here. My plan was originally to keep an eye on him, but that didn't really go according to plan. I lost Kenny and got a bit drunk..."

"McCormick is probably fine. He probably met up with some slut with big jugs and they're probably off somewhere making a night of it."

"Yeah, he is..." I shrug off the unpleasantly heavy feeling in my gut. Kenny has always been fairly salacious, to say the least. "So you know why I'm here. Why are you here? Token makes you out to seem like the least sociable person on the planet."

"Oh, I am," he shrugs and gives a lazy smile. It reminds me of Kenny's smile. "Clyde's around here somewhere. I think he's trying to make amends with Bebe."

"They're fighting again? Maybe they should just break up." I swear, Bebe and Clyde fight more than Cartman and I.

Craig nods, "We were only supposed to stop by here for a little while, but he wanted to stay and since he's the one with the car I'm kind of stuck."

"Hopefully he's not planning on driving home tonight. I saw Clyde earlier, and it's safe to say that he's pretty wrecked."

Craig laughs, "If that's the case then he'll probably just fuck things up with Bebe even more."

Conversation with Craig Tucker seems to be much easier than everyone makes it out to be. Maybe it's because he's stoned? Or maybe it's because I'm drunk? Either way, it reminds me of conversations with Kenny. They're both easy going, though I'm sure if I brought it up with either of them they'd both passionately deny that they are alike in any way.

"Why do people think Kenny is so strange?" I ask, unable to help myself.

Craig taps his chin in thought before saying, "He sees the world differently than most people. That's it, he's just different."

"He is, but I always thought that was a good thing."

"It can be, but it can also freak people out. People tend to fear what they don't understand."

"I suppose so," I say. "What do you think of Kenny?"

"Me?" he shrugs. "I think Kenny McCormick is the type of person who will go around fucking everyone except the one person who truly and genuinely cares about him and wants to be with him. It's pretty fuckin' sad."

I frown at the honesty in the statement.

"He has a lot of shit buried deep, shit you probably don't know about and definitely wouldn't want to. Sometimes I wish I didn't know half the stuff I know 'bout him... Knowing about it and not being able to help... Well, it really fuckin' sucks."

"Yeah..."

"Help him," Craig says, "I couldn't, but maybe you can. Maybe he'll let you..."

"I'm trying," I say quietly, but maybe I'm not trying hard enough.

We don't mention Kenny again; instead we just talk about simple things like school, video games and the local sports team.

"You know what?" he says out of nowhere, "You grew up nice." He teases one of my curls.

"Oh, um, thanks," I say, though I find it hard to agree with him.

He looks at me, "Wanna find a room?"

I blink a few times, carefully considering _exactly_ what it is he's asking.

"Yeah, okay."

I don't know what makes me agree to it. Maybe it's the fact that I'm lonely. Maybe it's the fact that I'm jealous. Craig is here and even though he isn't Kenny, maybe I can pretend he is just this once.

We stand up and make our way to the first empty room we can find. It's a plain looking bedroom. It's probably a room reserved for guests.

He kisses me hard on the lips and wastes no time as he fumbles with the buttons on my cardigan. Once he gets them all, he rips it off along with my t-shirt and throws the articles of clothing across the room. He does the same with my pants and boxers, leaving me standing awkward and naked as he removes his own clothing.

Once he's undressed, he gently pushes me onto the bed and kneels over me. My legs instantly draw together. He laughs lightly and I feel stupid and shy.

He puts a hand on each of my knees and slowly pulls them apart. He mutters some compliment before settling in between my legs. I try to wear a look of confidence, but I can't do it. I probably look scared. I think I am scared, but I don't know why. It's just virginity.

It's just virginity.

I keep repeating that in my head.

"Don't look like that…" he says, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

I nod.

"Okay," he says as he sucks on his fingers.

I keep quiet and spread my legs wider to give easier access.

There's one finger. I find myself briefly wondering which hand he is using in a stupid attempt to distract myself from the strange, foreign feeling.

As the second on makes its way in the weird feeling grows painful. I squirm uncomfortably on the sheets and grit my teeth. I stare up at the ceiling, concentrating on the patterns and speckles and spots.

He grabs my legs and tosses them unceremoniously over his shoulders. I feel relieved as the fingers leave my body, but they are only to be replaced by something far more painful that fingers. I inhale sharply as he draws closer and closer, until we are close enough to kiss but don't.

"Fuck…" he mumbles.

I feel those fingers on me, the ones that had been inside me mere minutes ago. Was it minutes or just mere seconds? My muscles clench and his fingers have a firm hold on my hips.

"Just relax," he says, "If you don't then... nnn…"

The movements grow faster and I bite my tongue to keep silent. The headboard off the bed is rattling with us.

"Are you okay?" he asks, slowing his pace.

"Yes," I manage to bite out.

"Are you sure?"

I nod, urging him to get on with it.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Just move," I hiss, gritting my teeth.

He gives a look of hesitance, but continues anyway.

He's not looking at me. His gaze is directed at the rattling headboard above me. I wonder if he's imaging I'm somebody else. I should close my eyes and do the same.

Sometimes he hits a certain spot that feels good. I feel my eyes growing watery as I open my mouth inaudibly gasping. I don't feel so drunk anymore.

I shut my eyes tightly. I don't want to see his face when he comes inside of me.

I feel myself jerk as he wraps a hand around me, tugging in a sloppy rhythm. I still hurt but it's momentarily dulled as the pleasure takes over. My lips part again and I can no longer protest or think straight.

"Shit…!"

My toes curl and uncurl. Panting, I look down on the mess I made on my stomach. I sigh, defeated and let my head rest back on the bed. I want to go home. I want to be asleep in my own bed, not that of a strangers.

He follows short moments after. I feel his body shudder as he lets out a low, guttural moan.

When he pulls out I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding. I feel hot, like I'd been sitting under the sun for far too long.

For the longest time I just lay here. Craig isn't in my line of vision; he probably got redressed and went to clean off.

"That was your first time right?" he asks as he re-enters the room. He is already dressed, and holding a tissue box in his hand. He pulls one out and wipes my stomach off. Considerate.

Propping myself up on my shoulders, I mutter some confirmation, turning my head away.

"I could tell… you were…" he trails off.

I was what? Awkward? Rigid? The worst lay ever?

Sometimes I hear Kenny talking about people that are terrible in bed and he calls them a bad lay. Was I a bad lay? I can't even bring myself to ask.

"Yeah…" I sit up and gasp at the pain shooting through my spine. For a few minutes I just sit there, motionless, naked and flushed.

"Don't worry; first times usually aren't the best. You'll be sore," he gives a nervous laugh and then picks my clothes up off the floor. "Here," he says, handing them over.

I mumble a 'thanks' as I carefully stand up to get dressed. He watches me and I don't have the energy to tell him to look away.

"I'm sorry..."

"It's fine, really... Please, don't apologize. I wanted it too, remember."

"You were drunk –"

"But I still wanted it."

He shrugs, frowning. "Can I ask why?"

I stay silent and he leaves it at that.

"I'll see you at school," he whispers before exiting the room.

I curl up on the bed and shut my eyes. I'm too tired to attempt to find Kenny. I'll go look for him in the morning.

I think it's safe to say I'm never drinking again.

* * *

When I wake up, I immediately get out of bed, trying not to let the memories of last night replay in my head.

I try to disguise the hitch in my step as I search for Kenny.

He is asleep on the sofa in the basement, with his jeans unbuttoned and his limp dick half hanging out. I wonder how many people have seen him looking like that and it bothers me. I wish he would think better of himself.

This is the way it always ends up. The girl, or whoever, probably ditched him right after they fucked to go and partner up with someone else. Kenny is the same. Soon he'll be looking for a new conquest.

"Kenny?" I shake him roughly.

"Huh?" he mumbles, opening his eyes.

"Wakey, wakey," I say in a sing-song voice.

He sits up and looks down at his lap. "Ah, my bad," he says, tucking his dick back in and zipping up his pants.

"Come on, let's leave," I say, wrapping my fingers around his wrist.

"You're not hung-over?"

I shrug, "A bit, you?"

"Not really, just tired."

The way out was like a maze of unconscious bodies. Once we're outside, Kenny stops my and turns me to face him.

"You okay? You're walking funny," he observes.

"I fell a lot last night," I laugh as we step outside. "Ah, fuck, it's bright." I shield my eyes with my hand.

"You okay?" he asks, narrowing his eyes and looking at me strangely.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know," he says after examining my face, "But you look different this morning. Something's changed."

I give him a strange look, even though I know exactly what he's talking about. What an odd thing for him to have noticed.

"I don't know what you mean; I'm the same as I was last night."

Hah.

"Okay," he says, sounding unconvinced. "If you're sure."

Okay, so maybe losing virginity does change a person; however, I don't really feel like I've changed. I feel the same as I did before I had sex.

Maybe it depends on who you fuck. Stan has always told me that I need to be careful and lose my virginity to someone I care about and who cares for me. I obviously didn't listen. I didn't think my virginity was really all that important. It certainly wasn't something people were going to be fighting over.

Oh, well. I'm not going to give myself the time to mull it over. I'm just going to forget about it for now.

"I'm sure," I say with finality. "So, how was she?"

"Who?" he asks as we start to walk.

"The girl or whoever you were with last night."

"Oh, I don't even remember," he laughs.

I force myself to laugh too, even though it isn't funny at all. "So it was that good of a night, was it?"

Kenny once told me that when he doesn't remember what he did the night before he automatically assumes it was a good night.

"Guess so."

* * *

We walk back to Kenny's place and he collapses onto his bed, a simple mattress on the floor. As soon as his head hits the pillow, he is out like a light.

I look over at his laptop, then back at Kenny, then back at the laptop.

It's staring at me, just asking to be hacked into…

Before I can decide against it, I open it and do my thing.

There's a window marked in one of the tabs. It's a porn site, go figure. I press the play button to the video on the opened tab and it's not at all what I expected to find.

It's some weird amateur porno with some guy jerking off and pissing on himself in a bathtub.

"What…" I feel my face flush as I watch the video, unable to look away from the crude scene. Why would Kenny be watching something like this?

First of all… a dick and no tits. It's a man.

I guess Kenny was serious all those times he insisted he swung both ways.

"Like it?" a voice whispers in my ear.

I spin around and cover my mouth with my hands. I've never been on the receiving end of Kenny's bedroom voice before.

He is standing there with an amused look on his face, "So…?"

"I-I-uh…ah…" I stutter pathetically, "Fuck."

He grins, folding his hands behind his head. "Urolagnia is definitely not my thing," he makes a face, "but I was curious."

"I'm surprised you know a word that big?" I quip back.

He laughs good naturedly. Kenny and I both know he is far from stupid.

"Kenny, I have a question," I say.

"Shoot."

"What happens?" I ask.

"When…?"

"When you lose your virginity?"

"What do you mean?"

"What are you losing? Where does it go?"

He smiles a bit, probably at the naïve childishness of the question.

"Well," Kenny shrugs, "You gain knowledge of a new experience after you lose your 'innocence' I suppose… I guess it gets sucked up by the person that fucked yah!"

"Jeez," I say dryly. I suppose I should have expected an answer like that. A very typical Kenny thing to say.

He goes on to tell an elaborately retarded story about a man who fucks virgins and by sucking up their "innocence", it ends up giving him superhuman powers.

"Please stop talking," I say dryly.

* * *

Rain taps at the windows later in the day, streaking and staining the once clear glass with guilt and grime over the night before.

I always found the rain to be relaxing. It seems to wash away the badness. After a storm, the sun's light shines through the grey clouds and offers you a new beginning.

I grab Kenny's wrist and lead him out into the streets. I raise my head to the sky, letting the cold drops of water soak my face and hair as if they're washing away any guilt or sin.

"What on earth are you doing?" Kenny laughs, but I just smile.


	10. KM: If you do it for the loot

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**Chapter warning: prostitution, sexual content.**

* * *

_It doesn't hurt me.  
You wanna feel how it feels?  
You wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me?  
You wanna hear about the deal I'm making?_

Kate Bush

**Kenny McCormick – If you do it for the loot**

It just happened. That's all.

At least, that's what I said the first time, now I'm not so sure. I just have to remind myself why I'm doing this. I'm so desperate, and when I give myself a reason it makes it a little more tolerable.

The places, beds, and bodies change, but the act itself is still the same.

I told Kyle I had some business to attend to. He didn't pry, though I could tell he wanted to. Or maybe he just wanted to imagine that I went to do something safe and okay. Asking me would have broken that illusion.

So I let this stranger put his hands on me. He rubs my bare thighs with his meaty fingers after I undress. He keeps most of his clothes on and I don't really mind because he isn't shaped very nicely and like most people, I hate to fuck an eyesore.

There is drunken desperation as his rough, calloused fingers razor across my skin. It's like he needs this, and maybe, just maybe he does. I've met a lot of married men who have spent years trying to repress homosexual urges. They end up cracking at some point and driving around until they find a kid like me. The kind of kid who will do anything for a few bucks.

I lay back, feeling like a mess of poorly drawn lines and he just feels me. All of me.

"What do you want to do?" he asks.

"Whatever you want," I say, "_You're_ the one paying _me_."

I let him take control. He likes that.

I part my thighs in blatant invitation. There are roaming hands, fingers, and then I feel his entirety against me. I relax my muscles and lift my legs up higher. He gives little warning as he goes in for the kill.

"Ow, Jesus Christ!" I hiss and he lets out a low chuckle, moving even faster in response to my complaint.

I'm being exceptionally loud and squirming around a lot. He is probably assuming it's out of pleasure. It isn't. I'm in a lot of pain right now. I probably would have loosened up a bit, but every single fucking time I die; I come back with a brand new body.

Yeah, that means I'm once again a "virgin".

To be honest, that's probably one of the shittiest parts of dying.

I guess it's kind of funny. I bet I'm the only person in the world who can say that they got back their virginity. I don't really think of it as true virginity, though.

Virginity… it's more of an emotional thing. I guess Stan's sentimentality has rubbed off on me as the years went by.

The stranger continues pulling out and pushing himself back in. In and out, in and out, just like a knife.

I wonder what would hurt worse.

Just kidding.

I wrap a hand around my dick, feeling climax approaching as I curl my toes. I just want this to be over as soon as possible.

I open my mouth and let out a string of moans, because that's what he's paying for. He follows seconds later, not paying any mind to how fake I sound. No one ever does notice.

Fuck, someone remind me why I do this to myself.

Oh.

Right.

Karen.

I'm doing this for Karen. I have to keep that in mind. She deserves better than what my parents give her. She doesn't deserve to be picked on for her outdated wardrobe, and her paper-bag lunches.

But she can never know. Never. It would destroy her.

I honestly don't do this sort of thing often, just when I'm desperate. It's fast money. Easy money. Or, at least, it used to be.

"You know… you might as well stay here for the night, it's already paid for until tomorrow at noon," the fat fuck says, dropping a few bills on the side table.

I give him a nod and wave him away.

He leaves soon after and I just lay there on the hotel bed for the longest time. I want to get up and leave, but I'm so tired. So, so tired and I can't bring myself to get up when my head hits the pillow.

Hotels never feel like home. No matter how nice the bed is or what side you lay on. The smell that lingers in the air is a reminder of all the people that have been there before you.

Hotels never feel like home and maybe that's why I always have an easy time falling asleep in them.

* * *

When I wake up it's still dark out. The clock says 3:16 AM.

I get up off the bed and almost cry out at the sudden jolt up my spine. That man certainly wasn't gentle. An occupational hazard, I guess.

I limp into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. My blonde hair hangs unwashed in my eyes, and I'm visibly shaking due to the strain on my body.

I turn around and spread my ass for the mirror. Nothing looks damaged. I suppose I'm just being whiny.

I gather up my clothes and get redressed, pocketing the money that was left on the side table.

Time to go.

As I step outside, I put up my hood and tighten the drawstrings.

Stan thinks I prostitute myself.

Wait.

Should I say "Stan thinks" or "Stan knows"?

I say that desperate times call for desperate measures.

_Prostitute._

The word leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don't want to use that word to describe myself. I don't even want that word to be in the same sentence as my name.

Kenny the prostitute? No.

I want to put myself in a different category than people like Old Frida fall into.

A simple shower couldn't wash away all her filth.

Even though I don't do this often, I suppose, in the end, I'm just as filthy, and it's the kind of filth that can't simply be washed away.

Rather than going home, I find myself in front of a hole-in-the-wall bar. I'm not ready to head home just yet.

I guess I look sick or maybe just confused because the girl sitting on a stool near mine asks, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I shrug, "Sore."

"Rough night?"

"You could say that."

"Drink beer?" she asks. I nod and she buys me a bottle.

Here, they don't check for ID. I remember coming here many times when I was sixteen. I'm sure they knew I wasn't the right age, but they never said a thing. I think they must find it funny to get the kids drunk. They're a bunch of degenerate deviants.

"Thank you," I crack it open and take a long sip after loosening the drawstrings and pulling my hood down.

"Kenny McCormick," she looks at me and smiles a bit, "I thought it was you. You don't even remember me, though, do you?"

I look at her, really look at her, and cannot seem to recall ever seeing her before. "Um," I squint, "No, sorry."

"It's Lola. I attend school with you," she says, running a hand through her long, brown hair. "We… you know, _did_ _it_ once a few years back. You took my virginity."

How many times have I heard that one before? I make an 'o' with my mouth, but don't say anything.

"Well, it doesn't matter," she shrugs, "Anyway. What're you doing here?"

"I don't really know. Sometimes I just come here."

"What for?"

"Because I'm lonely?"

"Is that a question?" she smiles a bit.

"I guess so. I'm asking it to myself," I laugh bitterly, "I don't know the answer.

She nods and turns to take a sip of her drink. "I know the feeling."

I make some noncommittal sound.

"So, Kenny McCormick, how many girls have you slept with?" she asks. "It was clear I wasn't one of the first, and I always wondered."

I give her a look, "Why would you ask me something like that?"

"I hear things."

"What kind of things?"

"Oh, you know."

I think for a moment, "A lot. It's hard to say."

She frowns, "But you're so young."

"I'm a bit mixed up right now," I tell her. "And it's not even just girls anymore… it's anyone."

She nods her head, looking genuinely sad for me. "I heard about your brother…"

"I think everyone heard about that."

Yes, everyone heard about the arrest of Kevin McCormick, but no one knows the actual story. They said it was drugs, which was the truth, but there was more to it than just that.

"I'm sorry," she says, sounding like she honestly is.

I nod, but don't thank her because I'm glad Kevin is gone.

"What happened after?"

I shrug, "It doesn't matter. I'm doing all right, so is my sister. I'm making sure of that."

"Really? Surely this isn't the end… you coming to a bar and sitting alone. As a child my mother would tell me that if it isn't a happy ending, it just isn't the end yet. So what happens next?"

"I don't know yet."

"Hm," she muses.

I take a second to notice to her appearance. She looks nice. She looks good enough to fuck, but I'm not going to. I don't want to. I find it hard to sleep with someone once I know their name. It gives it a more personal feeling, and I really don't want that right now. It's as they say: once you give someone your name, you give them a part of yourself… I don't know if that's true or not.

_I don't care about having sex…_

If I said that, no one would believe me. I suppose, coming from my lips, it's a lie. Sex is great, but contrary to popular belief, I don't care much about having sex with most people. At a risk of sounding incredibly gay and emo, I'll admit that sex is a bit of a distraction for me at times. We're all just skin; although, some have it better than others and I'd prefer someone attractive.

When I have sex lately, I zone out and it feels like I'm not mentally there anymore. I'll be thinking about my weekend plans, or what I might have for dinner. Sometimes it's better than me being in that moment and finding myself wishing I was somewhere else. It's extremely unpleasant to find yourself thinking "I need to get out of here" while you're in the middle of sticking your dick in someone's hole or vice versa.

I'd like to love someone, to be able to wrap my arms around another body as I sleep, but I don't think I deserve that kind of peace yet.

I have a person in mind that I want to be with but I don't want to burden them with a stupid confession. That is the last thing they need right now.

It's sad, because sometimes when I let myself think about it, I feel like I might really love them. I wish I didn't, because they deserve a little more than someone who would constantly be disappearing and dying and cheating.

But maybe if I was with them, I could be faithful.

Oh, well. I'll probably never find out.

So I sit back and take what of them I can get and it's okay, for the most part.

"Would you rather feel miserable, or feel nothing?" I ask Lola.

She ponders for a moment with a finger on her chin, and then says, "I'd rather feel miserable."

"Why?"

"Because at least I would know I'm alive, you know?" she smiles a bit, "We have to keep living, no matter what."

"I suppose," I say, "I suppose that makes sense."

* * *

The rest of the weekend went by quickly. I died twice; good fuckin' times, and now we're back in class.

Mondays are always the worst.

"How was your weekend?" Stan asks as we all take our seats in homeroom.

"It was pretty good, I managed to convince Kyle to come to Bebe's party with me," I say, grinning.

"Really?" Stan asks, looking over at Kyle, who shrugs and nods.

"Is it really that much of a shock?" he mumbles.

"You hate parties, though," Stan says.

"Yeah, I know."

"Did you at least have fun?"

"Not really," he says, giving me a dry I-told-you look.

"Fine, Kyle," I relent, sighing dramatically, wiping fake tears off my face. "I won't bother you about coming with me to parties ever again."

Kyle scoffs, "I can't even say that I went with you, Kenny. You ditched me as soon as we walked through the doors."

"I know, Kyle," I say, but I don't apologize because I might do it again.

I turn my head; the window is cracked open and small rain drops are making their way into the classroom and falling onto the floor. I suppose it doesn't matter. Window open or window closed, it won't change the weather.

It's been raining a lot lately.

* * *

Kenny, what's wrong?" Kyle asks me later in the day, once we're seated at the lunch table.

I shrug a shoulder, "Nothing, Kyle. I'm just tired."

It's not exactly a lie. I am tired, in many ways, and I can still feel the places on my body where the stranger's nails were digging the night before.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," I tell him.

I don't want to worry Kyle. I don't think he would even believe it.

We were all nasty children, but Kyle grew up to be different. There's something softer about him. It has always been like that. It's a quality that Eric, Stan, and I don't possess. It's like we've all experienced more than Kyle.

Don't get me wrong, he can still be a fiery little fucker, but as he grew up, he grew more sheltered, thanks to his mum. There are things he still doesn't know, and I don't know about Stan, but sometimes I feel like I should protect him from horrible truths… Though, at the same time I want him to figure things out. I want him to figure me out.

Maybe I'm not giving Kyle enough credit.

Nah, I know I'm not giving him enough credit.

Kyle's a strong person. He probably doesn't need my protection.

* * *

**Prostitution is on Kenny's list of crimes in the actual show, and that episode ("Fat Camp") is what originally inspired this fic. The whole "Kenny the prostitute" idea has probably been done before, but oh well.**


	11. KB: I'm no Virgin Mary

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**School is destroying me. It's hard to find the time to do anything. I'll try and update as often as I can, but chapters will probably be a bit late. Sorry!  
**

* * *

_I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand_

The Killers

**Kyle Broflovski – I'm no Virgin Mary**

Stan, Cartman, and I are all sitting on a bench at the park just outside the school grounds. Classes just ended and Kenny still isn't anywhere in sight. He skipped last period with Bebe and Craig. They're probably getting stoned and stealing from the dollar store again.

I really hope Craig doesn't say anything to Kenny about what we did…

I suppose I could say, "Oh well, fuck 'im," however, that is what got me into this mess in the first place.

But I'm not going to think about that right now. No way.

"Dumb Jew," Cartman says, pulling me out of my stupid thoughts.

"Stop using that as an insult! You don't even know anything about the Jewish religion!" I yell, temper already flaring.

"I know all that I need to know," he smirks, radiating pathetic self-satisfaction. It makes me want to punch him in his stupid, smug face. "I know enough to see you for what you really are."

We are in the middle of yet another argument. I swear, every time Cartman opens his fat mouth I feel my anger reaching an all new peak.

Stan is trying to ignore us, but apparently it isn't working. He's doing that thing where he squeezes the bridge of his nose.

"Goddammit, Cartman, you stupid asshole!"

"Yeah, whatever, thumb-sucker," Cartman says, waving a dismissive hand towards me.

"Oh, come on, that was one time!" I yell, "ONE TIME!"

Stan begins to laugh, but tries to stifle it when I look at him.

Truth be told, I've woken up with my thumb in my mouth more than a few times, but they don't need to know that. Cartman witnessing it once was more than enough. It happened last year while we were all over at Stan's for the night to work on a group assignment. Cartman never lets me forget it.

"If you say so, Virgin Mary."

"Calling someone a virgin is not an insult, Cartman," I say.

Cartman scoffs, "Only virgins say that."

"Untrue."

"Okay," he says, and then coughs out the word 'virgin'.

I can feel my eyebrows twitching and my teeth gritting together. "If you _must_ know, I'm actually not a virgin," I say tersely, "Not that it matters at all whatsoever."

"What?" Stan and Cartman say in unison.

"I'm not a virgin," I repeat, in a calmer voice, looking around to make sure I wasn't heard.

"I didn't know you had a girlfriend," Stan says.

I want to laugh out loud. Oh, Stan, that's cute.

"I don't," I shrug, "You don't need to be dating someone to sleep with them, being around Kenny for so many years, you should know that."

"Yeah…" Stan mumbles, "But it's better if you are…"

"So little Kahl finally did the dirty," Cartman grins. "Who was she?"

"That's personal."

"Come on, Kyle, we're all friends here," Stan says. "Well, sort of," he adds, looking at Cartman.

I shake my head, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Was it even a chick?" Cartman asks.

"Shut up, Cartman," I say.

He smiles deviously like he just figured something out. "I knew it!"

"What?" I spit.

"You let some dude stick his dick up your ass!"

"How crude," I say.

Cartman starts to laugh loudly, "Oh man, this is too good. I can totally picture you getting your asshole pounded."

"That's gross, Cartman," Stan cringes, looking green.

"Your face is gross, yah vegetarian pussy," Cartman retorts.

"Your mom –" Stan starts.

"Guys," I interrupt in a dry tone, sitting up. "Could we please hold onto those intelligent thoughts?"

Cartman mimics me in a prissy sounding accent, and then asks, "So how was it?"

"Shut up."

"Bet you loved every second of it, yah slut," he slaps me on the back of the shoulder.

"Cartman, why do you have to be such an ass?" I growl, standing up to leave.

"Kyle, wait," Stan says.

"I'm going home," I grab my bag and start to exit the park grounds.

I hear Stan throw a last insult at Cartman before chasing after me. We fall into step and continue to walk in silence until Stan asks, "Truth or dare?"

"Huh?"

"Just pick one. Truth or dare?"

"Uh, okay… Dare."

"Darn," he says sounding a little sour. "Fine, okay, then I dare you to tell me who you lost your virginity to."

"Stan," I whine. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I just don't want to. Not yet."

"When then?"

"When I'm ready."

"Kyle," he says. "You… It was, like… consensual, right?"

"Yes…" I frown, stopping. "I wasn't raped, Stan, if that is what you're getting at."

"Okay," he whispers, "Good…"

We continue walking.

"But it was a man right?"

"What makes you say that?"

He shrugs and looks sheepish. "The way you were acting when Cartman was running his mouth. Plus, you've never really shown any interest in girls, so I thought…"

"Yeah, you're right."

Stan nods his head. "And before you ask, no, it doesn't bother me."

I laugh, "Good."

"Was it at least nice?" he asks.

"Not at all," I laugh, "It was virginity, Stan. It was pretty awful."

"Right, it can be pretty awkward," he laughs with me. "Did you bottom?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," he says, "What did it feel like?"

"I don't know," I shrug and smile. "It's something I'll probably have to get used to though. It hurt."

He nods again, frowning.

"It hurt a lot," I emphasize. "I wasn't completely sober."

"Jesus…"

I laugh again, "It's not as bad as it sounds. Don't worry, Stan."

He doesn't look convinced, but nevertheless he says, "If you're sure."

I pick up a stick on the side of the road and drag it along the streets as we walk.

"You're in love with Wendy, right?" I ask.

"Yeah, I am."

"How do you know?"

Stan shrugs, "Dude, I don't know. I don't want to sound like a total corn-ball, but it's just like in the movies. I've heard people talk about sex, saying it's not like they show it in the movies… but when you're in love, I swear it is. It's just like the movies. Every second you're with the person you love feels like the movies."

"Oh."

"Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just trying to figure some things out," I say.

Stan nods his understanding, "Will you tell me what it is when you have it figured out?"

I nod.

"Cool," he says and I silently thank him for not pressing the issue any further.

We continue to walk silently until Stan breaks the silence.

"Kyle, can I ask you something else?" he asks.

"Sure."

"Promise you'll tell the truth?"

I look at him suspiciously, "What are you going to ask?"

"Kyle," he says, "Are you happy?"

"Right now? I'm okay."

"Yeah, but are you happy? I think there's a difference between being content and being happy."

"Is there something that makes you think I'm unhappy?"

"It's just a feeling I get sometimes. I feel like I have to ask because you wouldn't tell me if you were unhappy. I feel like we're growing apart. We don't talk as much as we used to and I know that you're not to blame. I've picked Wendy over you too many times."

I shake my head, "I don't think of it like that, Stan. I'm not angry. I used to be, but I realized that was immature of me. People grow up and people grow apart."

"Okay… but for the record, I am sorry," he says sincerely, "I don't want us to grow apart."

"It's fine, Stan, really," I laugh, "I'm sure we'll stay friends for a long time."

"Yeah," he smiles a bit. "So, are you happy?"

"I don't know," I sigh, "that's a difficult question."

"I don't think it is," he says.

"Well then, are _you_ happy, Stan?"

He nods, "I am."

"That's good…" I say quietly.

"Yeah."

"Stan, on a whole, I'm not unhappy, but I suppose I can't say I'm happy either."

"Why?"

"I'm just stressed. It's temporary, I'm sure," I say, "I have a lot on my plate right now. It's like... I'm too busy to be happy, if that makes any sense?"

"You should take a break every once in a while."

I shrug, "You know I can't really afford to do that, Stan. The schools my parents want me to apply to… Harvard, Yale, Princeton… I need top marks. I need to be perfect."

Stan shakes his head, mumbling, "When you talk like this, I can see why you aren't happy."

I frown.

"It's scary, Kyle," he continues, "No one is perfect. I think it's impossible to achieve the perfection you're hoping for."

"I still have to try."


	12. KM: I'm a God

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**I wasn't going to go include the drama with Wendy and Stan but I remember that I mentioned it in an earlier chapter, so I decided I'd go for it. It may not fit, but that's okay. I'll make it fit.**

* * *

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears_

Evanescence

**Kenny McCormick – I'm a God... Just kidding**

I'm in history class, once again.

It's the worst.

I don't know what I hate more: the actual class, or all the kids in it that pick on Kyle.

The teacher is making us analyze a painting called "The Virgin and Child" by Jan Van Ike... or something.

"Now, what do you notice about the painting?" the teacher asks the class.

Everyone is silent and staring expectantly at Kyle, whose hand shoots up.

"Her clothing, first of all, is red," he starts, "Back in Shakespearean times, there were actually sartorial laws telling people what they could and couldn't wear. Richer colors, such as red, were worn only by those of a higher status. Peasants, and those of a lower class had to dress is brown, and other drab colors. So knowing this, we can make the assumption that this woman is of high social class."

"Very good, Kyle," the teacher praises, "That's exactly right."

Clyde's getting miffed, whispering to Jason that Kyle's making everyone look stupid.

"Oh, please," Bebe interjects with a harsh whisper, giving her boyfriend an annoyed look. "Kyle is smart, he can't help it. If you want to whine about looking stupid, then try harder."

"Why don't _you_ try harder?" Clyde mumbles back.

"I'm not the one complaining like a little bitch," she says indignantly.

I can't help but smile to myself. Bebe's always held a soft spot for Kyle, ever since they were young and she had a crush on him… or should I say, a crush on his ass. Not that anyone can really blame her.

Stan nudges me and whispers, "Basketball tonight?"

I nod, "Yeah, sounds good. Gonna let Eric join?"

"Might as well," Stan shrugs, "it's better if there are more people. We'll fetch Kyle too."

"Cool."

Kyle loves basketball. In his own words, "_It's one sport that I'm actually good at_."

* * *

I skip next period.

It's only art class, so what the hell?

As I walk down the empty hallway I see Wendy putting up posters informing students about the to-do's before graduation.

"Hi, Wendy," I say, "Busy with student council?"

"Yes, Kenneth," she mumbles, carefully stepping down off of the stepping ladder.

"It's getting hard to hide your little secret, isn't it?" I ask her once her feet touch the ground.

"What?" she spins around, paling dramatically.

"You knoooow," I grin.

She grabs me by the sweater and leads me into an empty classroom. "How do _you _know?" she hisses.

"I am a God, I know everything!" I say, throwing my arms up air and attempting to radiate my facetious self-importance towards her.

"Liar," she says, narrowing her eyes, "Tell me the truth."

I let my hands fall, shrugging, "I just pay more attention to things than most people do."

"Oh, really?" she asks, crossing her arms.

I nod, "You changed the way you started dressing. You wear baggier clothing now. You're careful and sometimes you unconsciously put a hand on your stomach. Plus, Stan says you haven't been putting out, either! It all fits."

She signs into the palms of her hands, "I don't know what to do."

"You're young, why didn't you get rid of it?"

"_Get rid of it?_" she quotes me while looking incredibly appalled at the suggestion.

"Yeah," I shrug.

"Everything deserves a chance at life," she says tersely.

"But if you can't provide for a child, will keeping it alive really be the best?" I ask, "I suppose it doesn't matter, either way, it's too late to consider an abortion."

"Yes…"

"There's still adoption?"

She shakes her head and places a hand on her stomach, "This child… This is Stan and my child, I couldn't let someone else raise it."

"When are you going to tell Stan?"

"Soon."

"How soon?"

"Soon," she repeats.

"Okay," I smile, shoving my hands on my pockets, "I get it, it's none of my business."

"You won't tell him?"

"No, like I said, it's none of my business."

"Thank you," she says, sounding relieved.

"Yeah," I frown, "Take care, Wendy."

"Thank you."

I nod at her before exiting the classroom and going outside to find Craig.

To be perfectly honest, I am feeling grossly jealous of Stan right now. I would love to have the chance to raise a child.

"What's up?" I ask as I approach Craig, who is sharing a cigarette with Tweek. I sit down on the bench and let out a yawn.

"Not much," he taps his cigarette over my head and the ashes settle on my hair, but I'm too lazy to shake them off.

Tweek brushes the ashes out of my hair and takes the cigarette from Craig, giving him a look.

"H-How's –nng– How's work?" Tweek asks.

"It's fine," I say forcing a smile. Of course, Tweek doesn't know what I actually do for _work_. Craig does, and every time someone mentions it he looks sad.

I want to punch him and ask him what the hell he is so sad about.

* * *

The rest of the school day was monotonously uneventful.

It's 5:00 and we're all going to meet at the ball court in a bit, so I'm on my way to grab Kyle, who is probably locked away in his room studying.

As soon as I arrive, my suspicions are confirmed.

"Dude?" I walk into his room. He's sitting at his desk, rubbing his temples.

"Oh, hi," he looks up from his desk, taking off his wire-rimmed reading glasses. "What are you doing here?"

"Just thought I'd stop by and see if you wanted to play basketball with Stan, Eric, and I."

"I'm busy," he says.

"Too busy for a game of basketball?"

"Yes."

I lift an eyebrow, "Busy doing what, may I ask?"

"What's it look like I'm doing," he gives me a dry look.

I give him one in return, "Studying, smart-ass, but why? We don't even have much homework this weekend."

"I'm in some advanced classes, remember? We get more work."

I sigh, sitting down on Kyle's bed.

"Kyle," I say, "Why do you do this to yourself?"

"Do what?" he spits.

"You're tired," I say calmly, "I can tell. Whenever you're overtired you become a bit of an asshole. Take a break."

He rubs a hand down his face and squeezes his eyes shut. "I can't, you know I can't."

"Why?" I throw my hands up, "Studying like this is not healthy. It won't do you any good."

"Kenny stop," he holds up a hand, "Please?"

"Why are you torturing yourself?"

"You know, I could ask you that same question," he spits back, rubbing at his eyes.

"We aren't talking about me right now, Kyle. We're talking about you," I say in the softest voice I can muster up. "So, I'll ask again. Why are you torturing yourself?"

"I'm not," he sniffs, eyes wet with supressed tears. He blinks once and they start to fall.

I stand up and walk towards his desk, where he's still seated.

"Ugh," he says, "Look at me… crying." He shuts his eyes, refusing to let any more tears out.

"Kyle, it's okay to cry."

"I don't like to."

"Me neither," I smile a bit, "Not many people do, but sometimes it makes you feel better, so cry if you feel like it'll make you feel better."

Kyle doesn't say anything, he just keeps sitting there with his eyes closed.

"How about this," I say, "You cry, and I'll… pretend you're not?"

"Kenny," he whispers, "that's fucking stupid."

I laugh lightly and kiss the top of his curly head, "I'll go then. Feel better, Kyle."

As I turn to leave, he grabs the bottom of my sweater.

"No… Wait…" he says, finally looking at me with a tear-stained face. "Can you stay for a few minutes?"

"Yeah…"

I bring him over to his bed and wrap my arms around him. I'm holding him so close to my chest, as if I am trying to soak up all his agony so he won't have to deal with it anymore. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way.

"I don't like myself," he says, sounding small.

As soon as those words leave his mouth I see the worst part of myself reflected in him, and I wish I didn't.

"Shhh," I whisper, running my fingers through his curls.

He doesn't say anything else, but he makes these miserable, quiet sounds every so often and I know he is crying. To be perfectly honest, I think he is crying about a lot more than just school.

We stay like this for a while. I'm not sure how long, but it is fine. I'd stay like that for days if it would help Kyle at least a tiny bit.

Eventually he grows quiet.

"Are you okay?"

Kyle nods, standing up and wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.

"Basketball?" I ask.

He smiles a bit and goes to grab his jacket.

"You kissed me earlier," he states as we exit the house.

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?"

* * *

"Took you guys long enough, Jesus Christ!" Eric whines. "I'm seriously, me and Stan were about to go home."

"Shut up, you fat fuck," I say.

"What the hell were you guys doing?"

"Oh, you know," I say nonchalantly, throwing a few enthusiastic pelvic thrusts in their direction, "We were having crazy, horny, teenaged sex."

Stan grimaces, "Now I know that's a lie."

"It's probably not," Eric interjects, scoffing.

Kyle presses a palm to his face and I just laugh.

"You okay, Kyle?" Stan asks, "You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine," he says, smiling. It's very convincing. If I didn't know any better even I might have believed him.

We get into teams. It's Eric and I against Stan and Kyle. It's a close game, but in the end Stan and Kyle beat us.

"Ha!" Kyle sticks his tongue out at Eric, who had been taunting him throughout the game.

Eric flips Kyle off and goes to pick up the ball, "It was Kinny's fault, he can't aim for shit."

Of course, Eric blames me.

"It's getting dark," Kyle says, looking up towards the sky.

"Mm," Stan muses, "I should be getting home. My mom will have my head if I'm out too late on a school night."

"Same," Kyle says.

That's one thing Eric and I don't have to worry about. My parents don't give a shit, and Liane is always out late with "clients".

"Kenny," Kyle says, grabbing my sleeve, "Thank you."

"Anytime, Kyle," I grin, "I mean it."

"What was that about?" I hear Stan ask him as they turn to leave.

"Nothing," Kyle says, "Don't worry about it."

I part from them, exiting the court gate.

"Kinny," I hear Eric call from behind me. I slow my pace, allowing him to catch up.

Hm?" I say.

"I am… you know," he looks awkward.

"You are what?" I ask.

"I'm sorry," a pause, "for puttin' you in the hospital." The words come out mumbled, like he wants to keep from saying it but I have to smile at the effort. It's certainly not every day Eric Cartman says that he's sorry. I think I might be the only person in the history to receive an apology from him and know that it's actually genuine.

"I know you are, Eric," I look over at him and grin. "I forgive you."

"Uh," he coughs, "Anyway. Now that that's over."

Blood and bruises… there was violence in Eric Cartman's veins that night and he made sure I wasn't going to ask any more questions.

I'm glad he's come to terms with himself.

"Walk me home, babe?" I ask, fluttering my eyelashes.

"Ew, shut up, fag," he says, looking mildly disturbed, but he accompanies me anyway.

* * *

"Welcome back," Karen greets me at the door.

"Did you eat supper?" I ask her.

She nods, "I made a can of soup, there's some left if you're hungry."

I make my way into the kitchen.

"We're getting low on food," she says as I pour the rest of the soup into a bowl.

"I'll go to the supermarket later this week," I tell her, "Wanna come?"

She nods, and then begins to shift uncomfortably as if she has something to say.

"What is it?" I ask.

"They-they were arguing about you again… Ma and dad."

I run my hand down my face, sighing, "Maybe I should just dye my hair brown or something."

She laughs sadly, "I don't think that would work. We all know you're blond."

"I suppose you're right," I admit.

Karen opens her mouth to reply, but is cut off my sound coming from downstairs. We both run down the stairs and see our parents in the midst of yet another argument, but this one feels different…

Suddenly, Dad raises his hand and brings it across Ma's face. She lets out a cut scream and stumbles back a few steps.

Karen gasps from beside me and immediately starts to cry, covering her mouth with her hands in an attempt to quiet her sobs.

My throat goes dry and I start yelling. I just explode. I don't think I've ever been this angry. I don't think I've ever said so many hate-words, not even to Eric.

Ma is crying, Karen is crying, and me and dad are about ready to duke things out but we don't.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

I take a deep breath.

A calm breath.

"You should go sit outside," I say, "Come back when you learn how to be a proper husband and father."

"Leave?" I slurs, laughing harshly. "_Leave_, he says! Boy, who is paying the rent? Me!"

"That may be so, but I do more for this family than you ever did," I say, faking calm. I grab Karen's hand, along with my ma's and take them both upstairs.

"Maybe I'm the one who should leave," I say, once they are settled. "Do you think it would all stop if I did?"

"No! None of this is your fault," Karen says.

"It's no one's fault…" I agree, "But he thinks it's me. He thinks…"

"He thinks you're not his baby," Ma says, filling in the blanks.

I just nod.

"Since he's about ready to pass out, will you both be all right here?" I ask, "I need to clear my head."

"But you just got home," Karen protests.

"I know…"

"Be safe," Karen says, relenting.

"I will."

I ruffle her hair and give my mother a kiss before walking down the stairs. Before I start to wander the streets, I confirm that my father is indeed unconscious. He is sprawled out on the sofa, a drunk, drooling mess, the perfect picture of white trash.

I really do wonder if my parents would fight as much if I was gone, not that I'd ever truly consider leaving. I would never abandon Karen.


	13. KB: I am small

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**I'm so happy that I'm getting so many nice reviews on this. Thank you to everyone who reviews, reads, and favorites this. I'm sorry if I don't reply to you all personally, just know I'm grateful. It makes me so happy!**

**The next chapter might be short, around 1000 words because school is murdering me. But after that the chapters get longer again, and a bit more exciting.**

* * *

_I know now that I'm forever dirt_

Marilyn Manson

**Kyle Broflovski – I am small**

I put fingers to my lips and press on them. They are swollen from being kissed harshly and without feeling, but I guess that's to be expected because I kissed back just as hard.

I was just with Craig Tucker.

I wasn't just with him, I was _with_ him. You know…

"We shouldn't be doing this," he said when I first approached him, and I had agreed, but it made no difference in the end.

He was right though. We shouldn't be doing this sort of thing. I shouldn't be doing this sort of thing, and least of all at school.

I feel like I'm trying to make one of those stereotypically cliché teenage romance films a reality. Sneaking away in school to have secret sex… Ugh.

It wasn't even like that, though. This is hardly romance.

Once we were finished, I started to cry again. I tried hard not to, but I couldn't help it.

Craig didn't leave this time, instead he just held me for a few minutes, the way Kenny did a few days back and it was nice. He let me stay quiet, and didn't force out an explanation. Maybe it's because he already knew why I was crying, or maybe he didn't want to.

Craig isn't Kenny, and I can't pretend he is. It would be wrong of me.

Right now I'm sitting in the back of the school on the dirty cement stairwell and moping.

"Oh, hi, Kyle…" comes the unmistakable voice of Tweek Tweak. I turn around and he's hovering in the doorway like a timid animal.

"Hey, Tweek," I force a smile.

"Not my business, but you seem down," he notes, seeing right though my happy façade.

"I guess I kind of am," I admit.

He makes his way down the stairs and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with shaky hands. I didn't know he smoked, but then again he does spend a lot of time around Craig. He was probably prone to fall into the habit someday.

"Are you all right?" he asks, sitting beside me.

"Not really."

"Do you –nng– wanna talk about it?" he offers.

"I don't know if I can."

"Why not?"

"It involves someone else."

"Oh," he says, "Is this relationship stuff?"

"No, I'm single," I shrug, "But I'm doing _stuff_ with someone I know I shouldn't be doing _stuff_ with."

He nods, understandingly, urging me to keep talking.

"I lost my virginity to this person."

"Do you feel attached to them?"

I shake my head, "I honestly don't."

"I don't really –nng– know what to say to help," Tweek admits, "But I can keep listening."

"You don't mind?"

He shakes his head.

"Hey, Tweek, have you ever been in love?" I ask, trying to get another perspective on the bigger issue.

He thinks for a moment before saying, "I don't know."

"Really? Haven't you ever dated?"

"No, that is way too much pressure!" he shakes his head, and waves his hands around. "Besides, probably not many people would wanna date somebody like me."

"Someone like you?"

He frowns, suffering from a few spasms before saying, "I'm –nng– I'm rigid, permanently shaky, scared of everything that moves and some things that don't, on more medications that I can count…"

"Aw," I say, "I'm sure that once you find the right person they'll be understanding and accepting of all those things. That's just one part of you. There's so much more."

"Maybe you're right."

"I think I'm right," I smile a bit.

He gives me a shaky smile in return. "I still don't think I could ever find it in me to confess to someone. That would be way too much pressure!"

"Is there a someone?" I ask curiously.

"Kind of."

Craig…

What if it's Craig?

It's probably Craig…

Oh, God.

I'm Tweek's friend and I did stuff with Craig.

I clench my stomach, feeling it tighten unpleasantly.

"Y-you okay?" Tweek asks, and I just want to cry at the sincerity in the question. I don't deserve any of it.

"Oh," I say, "Yeah, I'm fine." I force a smile before asking, "Is it Craig?"

His cheeks redden lightly and his shoulders jerk.

I'm such a horrible person.

"I'm sorry," I spit out before I can stop myself.

"What for?" he asks.

I just shake my head frantically, "Nothing, forget I said that…"

"Ah." He finishes off his cigarette before stepping on the butt. "Well, I'm going to go find C-Craig," he says, standing up.

"Okay."

"I'll –nng – see you later. I hope you figure everything out."

"Thanks," I wave.

I stay sitting for a few more minutes until I decide to go find my usual crew.

When I find the guys, they're sitting around Kenny, who is telling them this absolutely insane sounding story about Saddam Hussein harassing Satan in hell. I stop approaching them, and just listen to them enjoy themselves. They're laughing; even Cartman looks especially enthralled by the ridiculous tale.

"Where on earth do you come up with this stuff?" Stan grins, once Kenny is finished the story.

Kenny shrugs to say he doesn't know, but has that look on his face that says he's lying.

I just keep standing off in the distance, watching his mouth move as he speaks.

I feel small.

So damn small.

* * *

"Hey, Kyle, where were you at lunch time?" Stan asks once we're seated in history.

"Probably searching for some more dick like the cum-slut he is," Cartman says all too loudly.

Oh, yeah, the gay insults haven't stopped ever since he figured out I took it up the ass like he _knew_ I would.

"_What_?" Kenny asks, raising an eyebrow and looking over at me.

"No!" I growl at Cartman, even though there was a bit of ugly truth to what he said. "I was with Tweek for a bit," I say, not mentioning that I was also sitting and moping for a good twenty minutes before he showed up.

"Liar," Cartman says in a sing-song voice.

"I'm not lying!" I hiss.

"Okay then. Was that before or after you got nice 'n fucked?"

Is he just being an asshole, or does he know as much as he's pretending to?

Fuck, fuck, fuck...

"What are you going on about?" I ask, trying not to sound shrill.

Kenny watches the exchange between Cartman and I with a frown on his face.

"Nothing, nothing. Don't worry about it, Kahl," he waves his hand dismissively. "What did you want with that schizophrenic idiot then?"

"He's not a schizo," I say, "He's just kind of… jittery."

Well, maybe he is schizophrenic, but if he is that really isn't anybody's business but his own and those he chooses to tell.

"Kind of?" Cartman scoffs, "Don't you think that'd a bit of an understatement?"

I shrug and laugh, "Okay, yeah, maybe."

"He's neurotic, completely messed up. He goes around saying that it's just the coffee, but I highly doubt that."

"Okay, okay, enough," I hold up a hand, "Be nice."

I know that my first impression of him wasn't a good one, and it just worsened when he started going on about gnomes, but I'm really fond of Tweek.

And as for the gnome business… Well, he sure proved us wrong once they started sifting through his drawers.

"Whatever, Kahl, you scrotum-licker."

* * *

After school I see Cartman and Kenny sitting on a picnic bench, staring off at something.

"What're –" I start to say, but am interrupted.

"Shh," Cartman puts a hand over my mouth, silencing me.

I push him away, "What the f–"

"Quiet," he hisses at me, then nods to the scene a few feet away.

Stan and Wendy are fighting again in the middle of the school parking lot. It seems that they're always in the midst of an argument.

"I'm sorry, Wendy. This is my fault. I'll go with you to the abortion clinic," Stan says, "I'll even pay for it."

Wait, what?

_What?_

"No, Stan!" Wendy yells, sounding shrill as she puts a hand on her womb. "I'm keeping it!"

"But Wendy –"

"Everything deserves a chance at life, Stan! Everything!"

"But Wendy, we can't provide for a kid! We're eighteen years old for fuck's sake! You can't just make these decisions without me!"

"Don't use that kind of language with me!"

"Oh, Christ," Cartman laughs, looking like he might piss his pants with anticipation, "It's a hippie fight." He nudges me, "This is even better than when you and Stan fight."

I can't even be bothered to come up with an insult; I just continue to stare with eyes wide.

Wendy's pregnant.

Wendy's pregnant.

Wendy's fucking pregnant.

Stan is going to be a father


	14. KM: An isolated thought

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

* * *

_I would die just to live and yet we all live to die_

Blessthefall

**Kenny McCormick – An isolated thought**

School sucks, but it's the weekend at least.

Eric's walking me home again, I don't really know why, but I don't mind it. I'd almost prefer it this way. It feels safer than wandering alone and it takes my mind off of the constant nagging voice that's telling me I'm going to die any minute.

"So Wendy Testacle-Burger is pregnant," Eric says, "This is fucking hilarious."

"Yeah."

"Stan's face was too priceless," he laughs, "I wish I had my camera on hand."

Poor Stan…

"And let me guess, you knew the whole time, didn't you?"

"Of course."

"Hm, thought so."

I clear my throat and sigh. "Uh, Eric?"

"What?" he asks, without turning to face me.

"Is Kyle a virgin? You made it seem like he wasn't."

Earlier today, Eric called Kyle a cum-slut after accusing him of searching for "dick" during lunch period. He seemed pretty insistent…

I don't know why… but it bothered me. Kyle isn't like that.

He scoffs once, followed with a short laugh. "No."

"Oh," I frown.

Well, even if that's the case… He's still not like that.

He's not like me.

"Who did he do it with?"

"Tucker."

"What? No…" I gape.

"Yup."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"He told you?"

"Naw, I followed him and saw them both run off together. It fits, don't yah think? But I guess it's kinda weird, I didn't even know they spoke. If anyone was fuckin' Craig I thought it'd be you, no offense."

"Jesus…" I frown.

"Why the hell do you wanna know anyway?"

I shrug, "I don't know, just curious I suppose. You know how I like to know things about people."

"Yeah, right…" he says eying me suspiciously.

"How many times did they do it?"

"Jesus Christ, Kenny, I don't fucking know. Go ask him yourself."

I sigh, squeezing the strap of my backpack. Why is this bothering me so much? Well, I already know the answer to that…

"Do you wanna fuck the day-walker or something?" Eric asks.

"What? No," I say, "And don't start spreading shit."

Eric holds his hands up innocently, "I wouldn't do that."

I scoff.

"I was just kiddin' anyway," he continues, "I know you prefer those with years of experience. Kyle probably lacks that."

"Right…"

"What was your old motto? Wasn't it 'just because there's a goalie doesn't mean you can't score' or something along those lines? Yeah, I think it was something like that. You used to say it religiously!"

"Eric, seriously shut up," I frown, not in the mood to recall my stupid facade.

"Fine, fine, calm your tits."

We continue walking, and soon we reach the poor part of town.

"Stop looking around like that, nothing is gonna get you," Eric says, taking note of my head swinging every which way.

"Something could."

"True. Maybe next time it'll actually be something interesting, like aliens," Eric offers.

"Dude…" I say, "No."

"Hey, have you ever been killed by aliens?"

I grind my teeth, choosing not to answer him.

"No offence, but getting hit by a falling metal pipe, or getting mugged," he shrugs, "That shit's boring."

"Dude! You really don't know when to shut your fat mouth," I growl, "It's not supposed to be _fun_ and _cool_. It's my life."

"Just kidding, yo," he laughs sadistically. "But really, you even said yourself if it's going to happen it's going to happen, it'll most likely catch you off guard, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"Maybe…" I sigh miserably.

"You're too paranoid," he mumbles.

"Can you blame me?" I ask.

"I guess not," he admits, "But couldn't it be worse?"

"God, you're so insensitive," I say, giving him an annoyed look. "It's no wonder your mum wanted to get rid of you."

"Harsh words, Kinny."

I roll my eyes at him, and sarcastically retort, "Yeah, I bet I really hurt your feelings."

He just laughs some more.

"I really can't think of anything bad that hasn't already happened to me, Eric, so it probably couldn't get any worse. Seriously, try to imagine the most horrible scenario you can, and I've probably experienced it first-hand. Thinking about is weirdly surreal. My life feels like one long, bad trip that I can't sober up from. I can't even get an actual job. I'd probably die on site and they'd just end up firing me, thinking I didn't show."

"Yeah, that's pretty weak," he agrees, "How do you get money?"

"Odd jobs here and there," I shrug, not wanting to go into detail.

The rest of the walk is fairly silent, but I don't mind. As long as I'm not alone, it's fine.

"Gonna be all right?" Eric asks when we reach my house.

"Yeah, thanks, man," I say before we part ways.

"Hope yah don't die," he hollers when he's a short distance away.

I laugh to myself, though it's actually kind of sad. No matter how hard I try, it seems like my deaths are rarely something I have control over.

I've killed myself a few times, sure.

Sometimes I just get so angry, and sometimes it's easier to just kill myself than to wait for my body to heal after a rough day or night. It's also safe to say I had a pretty wild childhood.

"Hello," Karen says once I make my way inside and up the stairs.

"Hey, how was school?" I ask.

"Boring," she shrugs, "You?"

"Also boring," I admit, "Want to go grocery shopping?"

She nods.

"Okay, I have work around seven so we should leave as soon as you're ready."

She nods again, and I retreat to my room. After I set my schoolbag down, I go into my drawer and pull out two fifties. A hundred dollars… Should be more than enough.

* * *

We fill the cart up with those cans of soup that most people tend to hate. Plain tasting, but cheap.

"At least Kevin's gone," I say, "He used to eat like a pig."

Karen laughs lightly, "He did."

"Do you need anything else?" I ask, looking over at her.

"I don't think so," she says, "Like what?"

"Like, uh… girl things?"

She makes an 'o' shape with her mouth and lets out a laugh, "No. I wouldn't make you pick that stuff up, anyway, so don't worry."

I laugh with her, "I don't mind. I like to think I've matured nicely over the years!"

"In more ways than one," she agrees, "You take care of us… Mum and me."

"I try…"

"You took care of Kevin, too."

I make a face at the mention of him, "And in the end, he proved he didn't deserve it."

Karen nods sadly, "He hurt you."

I shrug, "He's gone now, it won't happen again."

"It might," she frowns, "Dad is –"

"Shh," I cut her off, "Try not to think about that kind of stuff."

Maybe it's true. When my mother would start screaming about how Kevin was just as bad as my father, I blocked it out. I try not to think about whether or not there is any truth to that statement.

"Okay, just be careful."

"I am."


	15. KB: Jail

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**Almost at 60 reviews! Thank you all so much!**

**Enjoy, r&r~**

* * *

_And the more I hide I realize I'm slowly losing you_

Skillet

**Kyle Broflovski – Jail**

I'm tired. I've been tired a lot lately. I rarely have the energy to get out of bed, and if I didn't have school I probably wouldn't.

Maybe I'm depressed?

Probably not.

I shouldn't say stuff like that. It's unfair to the people who actually have depression.

I just have a lot to think about, and now Wendy reveals that she's having a baby! Stan cried, and it wasn't the happy kind of crying either.

Wendy got angry that Stan wasn't down for raising a kid with her. She stormed off and left Stan in the middle of the school parking lot.

Cartman wanted to go make fun of Stan's situation, but Kenny held him off while I went to check on him.

"Stan?" I asked.

"Kyle, I can't do this?" he sobbed, "I can't raise a fucking child!"

I just let him cry. I didn't try and speak. I don't think he would have been able to listen if I did.

Of course, Kenny knew. I don't know how, but he knew. You could tell by the look on his face.

I turn my head towards my desk, where my cell phone is busy ringing. It is on vibrate, so it's making annoyingly loud noises as it bounces off the hard wood. Sometimes I just don't feel like talking to anyone. I could pretend to be asleep, but it is only 9:37 PM. I reach for my phone, letting out a loud and exaggerated groan.

"Hello," I mumble into the receiver.

"Kyle… can you come and get me…" the voice on the other end breathes into the receiver.

"Kenny," I say, "You don't sound so good, are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine..."

"Okay… Where are you calling from?"

There was an audible exhale heard, followed by a moment of silence.

"Kenny?"

"Jail."

"What? Why? You got arrested again?"

"Can you just come bail me out?"

"Dude…" I sigh, "yeah, but I think if I'm going to be spending my money bailing you out of jail you better tell me why you were arrested."

"Kyle –" he tries to argue.

"It's only fair," I cut him off. "Come on, what was it? Did you make a dick out of yourself by hurling on the sidewalk again?"

It has happened before. It was a very Kenny thing to do. The last time Kenny got thrown in jail I was broke and was forced to crawl to Cartman and ask him to bail Kenny out. I'm sure he secretly loved seeing me beg him for the cash. Nonetheless, he agreed to it. He was quiet. He grunted some sort of agreement and the car ride was very tense.

"I guess… it was kind of indecent exposure."

"Kind of?" I ask dryly, "What was it really?"

"They…" there's a long, and uncharacteristically uncomfortable pause. "They arrested me for prostitution, Kyle," Kenny finally says in a monotone voice.

I start to laugh nervously. Please, I hope to God he's joking.

"Hah… yeah, very funny."

"Think about it, Kyle," Kenny growls, "The poor school whore. What _job _is more fitting?"

I feel a lump forming in my throat, so thick I might vomit. "Kenny," I croak, "You have a lot of other talents –"

"Please, Kyle… I'm tired and I just want to go home."

"Okay," I decide not to pry further just yet. "I'll be there in ten."

Once I hear the line go dead I shove my phone in my pocket and grab my car keys. If I am going to be perfectly honest, I'd have to say I'm not as surprised as I probably should be. Kenny is a very _sexual_ person, but the thought of him working the streets makes me feel pukey, to say the least. It's dirty out there, and if he's not playing his cards right and being safe then he's going to get sick, or worse, he could die.

I resist the urge to speed to the sheriff's station, but I go as fast as can. I'm a few minutes late, but I don't think Kenny is really going to mind as long as I end up bailing him out.

I sign some papers and answer a few questions, hoping that this incident won't be spread around the town. Officer Barbrady tells me that it will be kept quiet, but the police in this town aren't exactly the brightest bulbs, so we can only hope so.

Kenny looks indifferent once he appears, and holds an apathetic face while we walk back out to my car.

"So what the fuck, Kenny, what the fuck?" I ask once we are settled in my car. "I seriously hope that was a joke. Why were you really arrested?"

He takes a shaky breath. I can tell he's trying to stifle his frustrations and maybe his embarrassment. "Not now, Kyle."

"Yes, now," I deadpan. "I want to know where the fuck my money is going, if you don't mind."

He brings his hands over his face and sighs into his palms.

"What exactly happened?"

"I got caught."

"And what, pray tell, did you get caught doing?"

Kenny groans and stays silent for a moment, as if he is trying to figure out the nicest way possible to word something that isn't nice at all. I give him time, even though there is no possible way he can make it sound better.

"Sucking dick at Stark's Pond," he mumbles, looking out the passenger window.

"My God," I rub my temples, feeling like I could cry.

He makes some noncommittal sound.

"Is this the 'bad thing' you were talking about a while ago?" I ask in a whisper.

He shakes his head, still not looking my way. "When the bad thing happens, it isn't going to be something I can control."

"What about… the other guy? Shouldn't he have been arrested for soliciting a prostitute?"

"The fucking asshole ran away," Kenny shrugged, "It doesn't matter though, I got his money." He taps the front pocket of his jeans. "Want it?" he pulls out two ten dollar bills.

"Keep it," I cringe.

He shrugs, putting it back in his pocket.

"Look," I say.

"What?" he asks.

"Kenny, this isn't cool," I try to sound strong, but my voice wavers. "It's actually the opposite of cool. It's fucking stupid… You better have been playing safe. I don't want you to end up dead."

"Kyle, I die all the time, it's no big deal."

"Don't start this again," I groan.

"Fine," he snaps, "Where the fuck are we going?"

"My place…" I mumble, not used to seeing Kenny's volatile side.

"Why? Just take me home."

"No, dipshit. You're staying with me tonight."

"Why? I'm fine, Kyle. It was a one-time thing."

"Really?" I pull to the side of the road and look him straight in the eye. "Be honest, Kenny. Was that the first time you did something like that? Maybe the second? Third? Or did you lose count by now?"

He shrugs, making the answer perfectly clear. I give a sigh, trying not to sound as completely disgusted as I really am.

"Never do it again," I finally break the silence, unsure of what I could say to make things easier. "If you do, I'll be the one to kill you."

"I'll just come back."

"Kenny," I say, "When I was a kid, I always thought you were really cool, and tough. You were kind of my idol –"

"Are you saying you don't think I'm cool now?" he asks, in a slightly joking tone.

"No, I'm saying it's true, even now. You're better than all of this…"

"I don't know about that."

I shake my head and continue the drive to my house.

"But really, what else is there for me, Kyle? I have no special talents, and I really need money. Karen needs to eat and my parents spend all the money we have on more drugs."

"You have a lot of talent. You are good at coming up with stories, you have a nice singing voice…" I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and concentrate on driving.

"That stuff doesn't matter. I can't make easy money by doing any of that."

The remainder of the drive is silent. We are quiet until we are situated in my bedroom.

"Your parents… How are they?" I ask, gathering spare clothes for Kenny to sleep in.

"They have their ups and downs," is what he would always say, refusing to vocalise the specifics, but it's different now. He's clearly upset about something and he has been for quite some time. He takes a deep shaky breath. I sit beside him and gently put my arm around his shoulder, "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

He doesn't reply. I don't say anything after that, I'll wait for him to speak, however long that will take. I hand him a change of clothes, which he thanks me for, shedding his own clothes off his body. He never was one for modesty. I turn my head, though find myself staring at him with my peripheral vision.

I don't push him to talk, but I have a feeling he needs someone to listen to him.

"My ma has a bruise on her cheek," he whispers, poking his own cheek for emphasis. "Do you know why?"

"A bruise?"

"A little while ago, my dad hit her…" he continues, "My dad hit my ma."

"Kenny…"

Kenny shook his head and sighed, "He's getting worse. I don't know what happened to make him do it… I think it's the drugs."

"I'm sorry."

"I hate him so fucking much," he laughs bitterly. "Do you wanna know what they were arguing over?"

"What?"

"Me."

"You? Why?"

"My dad thinks I'm the product of an affair because I don't look like him or my ma. It's not the first time he said it, but they both let it slide and said I'd probably look like my dad when I got older. Here I am at eighteen and I still look nothing like either of them… Blonde hair, blue eyes, fuckin' summer freckles. He's always accusing my ma of cheating on him. She never would, I know it. She loves him so much. If she didn't love him, she would have left a long time ago, but no. She stays, and takes all that abuse because she loves him and can't bring herself to leave, even if it means Karen and I have to suffer. If he really wants to hit someone, he shouldn't be hitting her, he should be hitting me. My Ma didn't cheat, she wouldn't. She loves him… she loves him. It's not her fault I didn't live up to his aesthetic expectation and his elementary education won't allow him to see that DNA is more complicated than just looking at the parent's hair color."

He pauses, and I notice his throat contract as he swallows, "I swear to fucking God if he lays a hand on Karen I'll kill him. I won't even hesitate; I'll blow his fucking brains out of his skull."

"I'm sorry, Kenny," I croak. It's all I really can say. I've never heard Kenny talk like this and it's scary.

"Everything is so fucked up right now," he rubs a hand down his face, sighing.

"I know, but do you think that selling yourself…" I pause, trying to be careful of my wording. "Do you think Karen would be happy that you are hurting just to put dinner on the table? She's a big girl. She's smart, she'll find out."

"I don't take my work home with me, Kyle."

"Still..."

Kenny shakes his head, "I don't like it, but it's tolerable and it's the only thing I can do to get money."

"Stop all this self-pitying bullshit," I say. I can feel that I'm not going to get him to understand.

"I'm not pitying myself, I'm just stating a fact."

"Couldn't you at least try to get a real job?"

"I've tried. I've applied everywhere I could think of, even at the shittiest places. I've applied at fuckin' McDonald's for Christ's sake. They didn't even want me. My parent's bad reputation really fucked me over. Even if I could get a job, I wouldn't be able to keep it."

I don't say anything else. Instead, he carries the conversation.

"And Kyle, for the record, no."

"No?"

"You said I could tell you anything, but I can't."

"What?" I say stupidly.

"Think about it…"

We both grow quiet and tense, neither of us speaking for what feels like a long time. We just sit here, on my bed, in a another rare, uncomfortable silence until he decides to break it.

"Kyle?"

"Y-Yeah, Kenny?"

"I'm sorry for getting mad," he says softly, "I shouldn't have. You were trying to help me. You did help me. You always do."

"It's fine..."

"Do you think I'm disgusting now?"

"No, Kenny, I don't think you're disgusting."

He pauses and I can see his throat contract as he swallows. "Then… Kyle, could you do something for me?" he whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Could you touch me," he asks, "Just for a few minutes."

I tilt my head to the side, puzzled at the strange request, before wrapping him in my arms and laying down with him. If this is what he needs, I'll give it to him.

He is soon quiet again, and so am I.

A few minutes turns into a few hours, and neither of us say a word.


	16. KM: No

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**I depressed myself while writing this part and almost changed what was going to happen.**

**Chapter warning: Sad chapter. Sexual references in the start, followed by mention of assault. Be careful while reading.**

* * *

_Oily marks appear on walls  
Where pleasure moments hung before  
The takeover, the sweeping insensitivity of this still life_

Imogen Heap

**Kenny McCormick – No**

_His thumb is rimming the edge of my shorts as he kisses me harder, pressing into me._

_Deeper._

_Deeper._

_I sink into the mattress and close my eyes, imagining I'm somewhere else as he razors his mouth across my skin. _

_Somewhere better. _

_Somewhere safe. _

_Does a place like that even exist for me? _

"_Turn around, I don't want to have to look at your slutty face." _

"Ken," I hear a quiet voice say, softly shaking my arm, "Kenny, you're dreaming."

I wake up tired and remember the ugly bursts of pleasure that left my body only nights ago. I had felt myself with another, whose hands had gripped and held and hurt.

"Mm…" I mumble, opening my tired eyes and rubbing a hand over my "_slutty"_ face.

Kyle's standing above me. "Hey," he says in a soft tone.

"Huh…" I say, surveying my surroundings.

"You're at my place, remember?" He shrugs, "I didn't want to wake you, so I was going to wait, but you sounded distressed."

"Oh."

I sit up and, stretch. "Do you have any alcohol?"

"It's early," Kyle says to me, "You shouldn't be drinking."

I shrug, "It's fine."

"Is it?"

"Probably not," I laugh bitterly. And suddenly a lump forms in my throat as if I might cry, but it just seems silly because I haven't cried in so long. So I swallow harshly, washing the lump away.

A few nights ago, I was walking home and heard an, "Oy, kid."

I turned my head towards the street and saw a man sitting in his car with the windows rolled down. He was waving a fifty dollar bill in his hand and I knew exactly what he was asking.

"No…" I mumbled, shoving my hands in my pockets of my jacket.

"You're the McCormick boy, aren't yah?"

I shook my head.

"Yes, y'are! So why the hell are you sayin' no for?"

"I'm tired now… I don't want to," I said and began to start walking, but this guy was insistent so I eventually gave in.

I felt like a lost little child just then and I don't know why this particular event made me so sad, but it did. Maybe it's because that was proof that I had created a bit of an ugly reputation for myself.

The McCormick boy.

The boy who will do anything for a few bucks.

It makes me wonder if there really is a difference between being wanted and being used. In the end, maybe we're all just objects. I envy the people who have someone that makes them feel otherwise...

"Please, Kyle," I say in a small voice.

I'm _not_ going to cry.

He gives me a sad look, but nonetheless, he leaves the room and brings back glass of what looks like unmixed rum.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Kyle asks, handing me the glass.

"Yeah," I whisper.

"Do you have those dreams a lot?"

"Sometimes," I admit, "More than I'd like…"

"What happened in it?"

I let out a short, cut laugh and shake my head. I shut my eyes and cover my mouth with a hand.

Don't cry… Don't cry.

I'm not going to cry.

_No, no, wait._

I remember pleading like that, the desperate tone of my voice seeming disgustingly foreign to my own ears.

It was hardly any different than all those other times, the only difference is that I said no. I never said it before. I didn't have the chance.

I never would have considered doing this kind of shit when I was younger. Letting some guy shove his cock up my ass? No way. Sucking dick was one thing, but this? No. If I was going to be with a guy, I was going to be on top.

But things changed.

People changed.

I changed.

And all for the worst.

I can remember the night that caused me to consider it.

I was at a party in Cherry Creek. Some rich kid's parents went away, thus he decided to do what any typical kid would do. He threw a party and it was huge. I went with Bebe, Clyde, and Craig, but lost them all within the first few minutes we walked through the doors.

I got drunk, blacked out and woke up naked on the unfurnished basement floor with an ache in ass and bruises up my back.

As soon as I stood up I knew what happened. There was nothing to piece together.

Did I deserve something like that?

No.

No, I don't think so. I don't think anyone deserves that. I've done some stupid things, but I never hurt anyone, so I don't think I deserve to be hurt like that.

Craig knows, but he pretends not to. He pretends not to know because he knows it wouldn't solve anything and it would only make me angry.

He's the one that found me and pretended to believe the story I made up on the spot. It was so obvious that he knew I was lying. I could see it in his face. He had on the most pained expression. He looked like he was hurting even more than I was.

I guess that kind of shows that Craig has a heart. He's really not as bad as I make him sound. Not at all. He's a good person. Looking back on this, I can admit that.

I remember thinking, "If there is a God, he really loves to torture me."

I also remember telling myself it was nothing I couldn't handle. I've been murdered and killed hundreds of times before and this was nothing to cry over, so I didn't. I remember telling myself that if no one else knew about it, I could pretend it never happened. No problem.

Now I can see that I was wrong. It is so much different than being slaughtered. It went deeper than just my physical being. My body was always put back together, but can you do the same for something that can't be materialized?

A few raw sobs erupted from my throat as Craig helped me stand on my shaky legs. I wrapped my arms around my torso protectively, but I didn't shed a single tear. Craig just found my clothes for me and helped me get dressed.

"It'll be okay, Kenny, I promise," he had said. He sounded so sure, and I wanted badly to believe him. I was ashamed, disgusted, but mostly I was angry. I was so fucking angry.

We never mentioned it. Craig never treated me any differently than usual. I was thankful for that, but even so, I felt like I had to prove something to _myself._

I had to prove I was okay.

I was okay.

I am okay…

I'm fine.

Everything is fine.

I wasn't going to let that fuck me up even more. So I sought out a man who would be careful. Then I started asking for money. Then that is what it was all about. The money. Just like when I was ten and I gave that guy a hummer for ten bucks. It's all about the money.

If someone were to ask me how to tolerate it, I'd just tell them you have to put yourself in a different place, a different state of mind. It might sound sad, it might sound wrong, but it does make it easier.

I kept repeating that in my head. I kept thinking about Karen, and my ma, and what it would take to keep them alive, to keep them healthy and happy.

I think Kyle has yet to get over his shock from having to bail me out of jail last night. I had to swallow my remaining dignity when I dialed his number. Who else was I going to call? Eric wouldn't have even picked up his phone if he saw my number flashing, and Stan? I really was not looking to confirm any suspicions he has of what I do in my free time. Stan is a good person, but he's judgmental and I didn't need any of that.

I can feel myself flush when I recall that recent conversation with Kyle and I feel even more shame when I remember that look he had on his face when he came to the station to get me. He was so disgusted and disappointed. He tried not to let it show, but I could see it clear as day. I can't say I blame him. What I did was pretty low, but like I said, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Once we got into Kyle's car me made me tell him exactly what. I told him I got arrested for getting caught sucking some stranger's dick near Stark's Pond.

"What the fuck, Kenny, what the fuck?" he said, sounding defeated. I wondered why. If anyone should have been feeling defeated it should have been me.

"I know," was all I could muster.

"Is this the first time you've done shit like this?" he looked me straight in the eye and held his gaze. I couldn't lie when he was staring at me like that. In more words or less, I let him know it wasn't my first time doing shit like that and he gave a frustrated, disgusted sigh.

You know what the funniest part of it all is? I didn't tell this to Kyle because he wouldn't have thought it was so funny, but the guy's name was John. John, the john. Just thinking about it makes me want to laugh, like it's the funniest joke in the whole wide world even though it's really not. It's really just kind of pathetic.

I realized something back then, and I remembered it again just a few nights ago. When someone wants something from you, _really_ wants something, then they won't hesitate to take it, even if you don't want to give it to them.

It's incredibly simple to be naked with someone, and it's incredibly simple to fuck. Fucking is easy, sure, but to be naked and unashamed it something completely different. Every time I take my clothes off I'm ashamed.

Over time, I've learned how to disguise the hitch in my step after being asked one too many times, "Why are you walking funny?"

Eventually, the excuse, "I fell and bruised my tailbone," wore out its usability.

It used to be so easy, but it's becoming so difficult.

I stare down at the alcohol in my hand and take a long sip, gathering up the facetious courage to tell Kyle what I've been needing to let out for the longest time.


	17. KB: Just say you believe me

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**Forgive mistakes, I'm incredibly busy lately. **

**I got inspired a bit by the Mysterion episode! ****I kind of like this chapter, it was exciting to write. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did, r&r.**

* * *

_And now come the tears, heavy and hot_

Patrick Wolf

**Kyle Broflovski – Just say you believe me**

Kenny is still here. He agreed to stay and keep me company because my parents are away celebrating their anniversary and Ike just left to spend the night at Filmore's. Of course, that is only one of the many reasons I wanted him to stay. I think it's best he not be left alone right now.

We're playing on my okama game sphere. He's kicking my ass, like always, as we chat mindlessly about things that don't matter.

I can't get our earlier conversation out of my head. Those were things I never knew Kenny went through.

A few hours have passed since that… incident. I've been calling it an incident in my head because I really don't know what else to call it.

I was beginning to realize something was upsetting Kenny. It was beginning to show. He always had a lot of his shoulders, too much for someone his age, but this was not what I expected. I wanted to fix it, make it okay, but I couldn't. There was nothing I could do.

"Kenny, I'm so sorry," was all I could say once he finished speaking.

"Why?" he asked, looking down at his hands.

"That… must have been awful."

"Not really."

"Kenny…"

"It wasn't."

"Kenny."

"It wasn't…" he repeated, but his voice cracked.

I was shocked when Kenny finally raised his head and I saw tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes. I was realizing then that this was not a joke. This was real and not another one of his games. I swallowed thickly.

"FUCK!" Kenny screamed, starting to sob openly.

I still can't get the sound out of my head.

"I-I want to help you, but I don't know what to do," I said desperately, "Please tell me!"

Kenny shudders.

"Tell me what to do…"

He bent over, shoulders shaking as he cried even harder.

I was at a loss.

At one point Ike walked in, with wide and curious eyes. I just shook my head, and he understood not to ask questions. He left the room as silently as he entered, and I just watched Kenny pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. "I can't do this anymore," he cried, voice cracking apart.

"Godammit… You are not okay, Kenneth McCormick," I whispered, lightly touching his shoulder. Kenny was never one to cry. I don't think I heard him cry since we were little kids.

He looked up at me with a pained expression. "Say it again."

"Huh?"

"My name," he whispered hoarsely, wiping at his eyes, "Say it again."

"Kenneth McCormick."

"Again," he sighs.

"Kenneth McCormick."

"Again."

"Kenneth."

"Again."

"Kenny," I said, "Kenny, Kenny, Kenny." I repeated his name a few more times, like some sort of mantra.

He closes his eyes.

I inch closer, "Is this okay?"

"It's just fine, Kyle."

"Can I touch you?"

"Yeah."

I wrapped my arms around him carefully and he started to cry again. I couldn't do anything, so I just held onto him. "Shhh," I said in the gentlest voice I could muster up. "It's okay to cry… You were hurt, so you just… You just cry. Cry until you feel better."

So he did. Kenny cried. He cried his eyes out and no matter how much I wanted to help him, all I could do was watch.

"Kenny," I say, pausing the game. "Do you want to –"

"No. It's fine, Kyle, I don't need to talk anymore," he cuts me off. "And stop looking at me like I'm going to fall apart. I'm not." He puts on a frighteningly convincing smile and points to his mouth, saying, "See? I'm fine."

"You're punishing yourself, Kenny… You can't just let this stuff happen to you. That's called 'learned helplessness' and it isn't healthy," I say.

"Cut the psychological bullshit, Kyle."

"I think you've been punishing yourself for a long time, but you shouldn't. None of this is your fault."

"Jesus Christ," he hisses.

"Okay… I'm sorry," I stare at my fidgety hands.

He's angry. He usually gets like this when he's embarrassed or distressed. I suppose it's understandable. He has a lot to be distressed about.

"What did you mean when you said you couldn't tell me things…?" I ask, recalling what he had when I bailed him out of jail. "You should know that I'm one of your best friends, and I want to help you."

"Not _everything_, Kyle, just some things," he says pointedly.

"Like… _that thing_?" I ask carefully.

"…Among others."

"What else?"

He shakes his head. "These are things I have to keep to myself because whenever I try to talk about it people just brush it off and tell me I'm crazy."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that I die all the fucking time!"

"Ugh," I groan. Not this again. "Kenny, don't be ridiculous! Don't you think your best friends would remember if you died?"

He laughs. Not his usual, good natured laugh, but a nasty and spiteful laugh. "No, Kyle. That's part of the curse. No one. Fucking. Remembers."

"Well… Okay, let's hypothetically say that you're being serious. Would it be so bad?"

"This conversation is way too familiar," his eyes narrow, "Kyle, let me ask you something. Do you know what the fuck it feels like to get shot?"

"Um, no."

"Stabbed?"

"No…"

"How about run over by a train? Have you ever experienced a moment of unspeakable pain and opened your eyes just to find that your legs are on the other side of the train tracks and you are left there, bleeding out?"

"No!"

"Well, let me tell you something. It. Fucking. Hurts. Don't you tell me that it's _not so bad_."

"Kenny," I say, "There is something… seriously wrong with you. I think you need help."

He starts laughing again, "You know what, Kyle? Fuck you." He waves around his middle finger. "I'VE SPENT HOURS GETTING TORTURED IN HELL AND NO ONE FUCKING BELIEVES ME!" he screams.

I shake my head and whisper, "How could somebody believe a story like that?"

"You know, my own brother killed me once. Remember that story I told you, where he just started to choke me? You asked how I got away, well guess what? I didn't!" his voice is shaking with anger, "and you know what the worst part was? Pretending it didn't happen. I couldn't tell anyone. Do you know what that is like? You've asked me time and time and time again where I go when I disappear for days? Now you know! Why would I make this up?"

"I don't know, Kenny, you were always good at making up stories..."

"I'm not making this up!" Kenny shouts, "It always happens like this: I die, you all get sad, I wake up, you forget, and then it happens all over again! It never ends!"

"You're being ridiculous…" I whisper hoarsely, "I'd remember if one of my best friends was killed."

He shakes his head and lets out a cut laugh, "Why are you trying so hard if you won't even listen to me? Isn't that counterproductive?"

"Kenny… I am listening.

"No, you're not."

"I'm trying!"

"No, you're not," he says again, with malice, "But I guess it's to be expected. You're awfully busy lately, aren't you? Go back upstairs, I'll head home. I'll be fine. Just go pick up a nice book and study. Maybe give Craig a call while you're at it. Let him fuck you some more."

I immediately go slack-jawed.

"Yeah, I heard about that."

He knows…

Kenny knows…

"How –" I start, but he cuts me off.

"That doesn't matter," he says tersely.

"Kenny, this isn't fair… You're the last one who should talk with your so-called _job!_"

He turns around and heads for the door, slamming it open and running downstairs into the kitchen. I follow behind him and shout, "Where the fuck are you going?"

He spins around and pins me to the wall with force.

"Ow…" I flinch.

He doesn't say anything, he just tightens his grip on my arms and I feel his nails digging into my skin.

"Kenny, you're hurting me…" I whisper shakily.

He just stares into my eyes and I feel like he's trying to read my mind.

"Kenny…"

"I'm going to show you something," he says, in an eerily calm voice. His grip tightens momentarily before he lets go and steps away.

I rub my sore spots and watch as he grabs a large knife that my mother uses for cutting raw meat.

"Oh my God, put that down!"

"God has nothing to do with this, Kyle," he grits out, lowering the knife so it's lined up to where his heart it. "I'll kill myself, and then you'll see… I'm not lying."

"Don't!" I scream, "Kenny, you're mentally unstable, and that's understandable."

"I'm fine!"

"We can fix this, Kenny…"

"Nothing is broken," he spits, the knife shaking in my hands.

"You need help," I desperately try to reason, "I'll help you."

"Don't feed me that bullshit, Kyle! No! Just say you believe me..."

"Okay, dude, I believe you, just put down the fucking knife!" I yell desperately. My heart starts palpitating violently, slamming against my chest.

"No," his voice wavers, "Say it like you actually mean it."

"I believe you, okay?" I say meekly, feeling panicky tears in the corner of my eyes.

"No, Kyle, you really don't," he says quietly, thrusting the knife into his chest.

It sounds sickening. It's a sound I'll never forget, but the visual is much worse. Kenny lets out a tiny gasp and opens his mouth. Blood drips out from between his parted lips and onto the floor as he hunches over.

My body goes numb. I think I'm screaming. Kenny falls to his knees, then onto his stomach, causing the knife to dive deeper into his chest. A quiet but agonizing sound escapes his lips.

"No, no, fuck, no!" I cry, falling onto the floor to roll him onto his back. I see the hilt of the knife heave a few times with the rise and fall of his chest, and then stop altogether.

I reach down to check his pulse, only to find that there isn't one anymore.

"Oh, fuck," I dry sob and gag, looking down at the blood on my hands. I feel vomit collecting in my gut, forcing its way up. I bend over and pour the contents of my stomach all over the floor and seeing it mix with Kenny's blood makes me throw up more.

Just when I pick up the phone with my shaky hands, the front door creaks open. I set the phone back down on the table and swallow the lump in my throat.

"Kahl?" comes a particularly familiar voice, followed by the front door slamming shut. If this were any other day, a normal day, I would be kicking teeth. "What the fuck's with the screaming?"

"What…" I say weakly, aware at how pathetic my voice sounds.

I hear footsteps approaching, followed by the light turning on.

"Seriouslah…" Cartman lets out a deep sigh. "How the fuck did you get yourself into this mess?"

I let out a miserable moan, refusing to let myself cry in front of Eric Cartman.

"Go wash yourself, I'll clean this up," he says in an uncharacteristically kind voice.

"WHAT?" I shriek.

"Calm the fuck down."

I frantically shake my head.

"Go," he commands, "I'll get rid of the body."

"What the hell do you mean you'll get rid of the body?" I hiss, feeling another lump start to form in my throat as I stare down at Kenny, who looks peaceful in the most macabre way. I tear my gaze away and look up at Cartman.

"I mean," he deadpans, "that I will dispose of Kinny's body."

My jaw drops. I am at a complete loss for words. What is the fucking fat-ass thinking?

"Is that your money-making face?" he smirks, "Sorry to say, but dicks don't fly."

"Cartman…" I whisper, not in the mood for jokes. "How can you be so calm about this? Kenny's…"

"Dead, I know."

"I can't believe you… You're… You really don't care about anyone, do you?"

"You know that isn't true."

"Fine, what I meant to say is that you don't care about Kenny."

He gives me a sharp look, "You know that isn't true either. We all make mistakes… some people make mistakes that are worse than the mistakes other's make."

"Clearly you didn't care enough to say sorry to him, though," I spit.

"No, it wasn't that. "

"But he forgave you," I continue, "For some strange reason, he forgave you. You beat him senseless for no apparent reason and he forgave you! He said he knew you were sorry, even though you never said it because you're an asshole."

"But I never forgave myself."

Okay, now that caught me off guard.

"What?" I ask, hoping he'll repeat himself but he doesn't.

"And for the record, I did apologize…"

"What?" I ask again.

He shakes his head, "Nothing. Go upstairs and clean yourself. You are acting like such a pussy right now."

I don't bother with any witty comebacks. There are more important things to worry about…

"You're not supposed to move the body –"

"Do you really want to turn this into a crime scene? Now I know that you didn't put that knife in Kinny's chest, but the police are going to assume you did."

"How do you know it wasn't me?" I ask.

"Oh please, like you could do this much damage to a fucking fly," Cartman rolls his eyes, "Besides, the dumb fuck pulled the same shit with me years ago. This will all blow over in a day or so."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask.

He nods towards the mess that is Kenny. "He'll be fine."

I shake my head in disbelief, "Are you blind? He's fucking dead!"

"That's why he did it. To show you he'll be fine."

"That," I point to the dead, bloody body that used to be Kenny McCormick, "is not fine."

"Kahl," he states, "just shut up."

I feel my eyebrows draw together and the lump in my throat comes back.

"Go upstairs, Kahl. I'll let you know once I'm finished here."

I give up. I nod dumbly and start to leave the room until I remember something. I say, "How did you know this was happening?"

"I didn't."

"So you just happened to be outside my house?"

"Pretty much."

Oh. Just like old times.

"How?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment. He gets one of those large, black garbage bags out from under the sink. I don't want to know what he is going to do with it, so I turn away.

I hear a strange, wet squishing sound. Something tells me that Cartman just pulled the knife out of Kenny. I shudder.

"Stan."

"What?" I ask, unsure what Stan has to do with any of this.

"Stan convinced me to come and talk to you. He's tired of the arguing. I didn't know Poor-Boy would be here too. I heard you screaming from outside."

"No, no, no," I wave my hands, "You were _not_ coming here to apologize."

"Maybe I was."

"As if. What were you really doing here?"

"…Blackmail material?"

"That is far more believable," I say before finally going upstairs to clean myself off.

I don't wait for the water to get warm; I just stick my hands under the cold tap water. Something akin to déjà vu starts to sink in and I begin to wonder if Kenny was telling the truth.

He couldn't have been though, could he? I know that the dead don't come back to life.

I change my clothes once I'm done washing my hands, tossing the bloody jeans and cardigan in the garbage can in the corner of my room. I slip on a plain green t-shirt and a pair of grey sweat pants.

I put a hand over my mouth and the scene replays in my mind. I allow the tears to finally fall, making ugly choking noises as I sob. Cartman can probably hear me, but I don't care anymore. I don't care.

I feel like my heart is breaking.

Funny, I always thought it was just an expression.

* * *

About an hour, Cartman comes upstairs and tells me that the kitchen has been reverted back to its original state. I silently go downstairs just to make sure he isn't pulling my leg, and sure enough, it looks the same as it did before Kenny grabbed the knife.

"How'd you do this?" I ask hoarsely.

He just shrugs in response, fortunately ignoring my messy state. My cheeks are red, and my eyes are bloodshot and still watery. I look like shit, but who can blame me?

I take a shuddery breath, rubbing my eyes. "Why would Kenny kill himself in my kitchen?"

"He was probably pissed off you weren't listening to him."

I shake my head, sniffling. "You should have heard him! The things he was saying were so…"

"I know," Cartman says, sounding irritated, "It all sounds completely fucking retarded, but it's true."

"If, by some strange reason, you are being honest… Why wouldn't you have told me and Stan about this?"

Cartman shrugs.

"You're a sociopath..."

"Ay!"

"I don't get it… Why do you remember and no one else does?"

He shrugs, "Kinny used to be mah best friend, maybe he still is… and maybe I just paid more attention than you idiots. I'm not going to lie and say I remember every moment he died. Apparently he does it a lot. I just remember that one time he did it in front of me. It was dramatic, personal, and to an extent, a lot more intimate. He was yelling at me while I told him how fuckin' stupid he sounded. Before I could get another word in he pulled out a gun and shot himself in the head. I didn't expect it at all, but then a day later I heard a ring at my doorbell and there he was, just standing there. He grinned all stupid-like and said, 'You looks like you just seen a ghost.' I was seriousleh pissed off."

I shake my head, "It's not possible. The dead don't come back."

"Jesus did it," he smiles innocently and I shoot him a nasty look.

"It's… completely illogical..."

"And that's your problem, Kahl. You look at everything with such a scientific view that you're sometimes unable to see what's right in between your eyes."

I feel my brow furrow.

"Kinny disappears all the time. He's one strange motherfucker. He just seems to be on a completely different level than most other people. It's like he has all this otherworldly knowledge."

"That's what everyone's been saying. I feel like I'm the only one who hadn't noticed."

I sigh and drag my hand down my face. This is all too much.

"Whatever, just think about it… and don't cry anymore. It doesn't suit you," he says, giving my a rough pat on the shoulder before leaving.

"Thank you," I mumble out, almost unconsciously. Two words I never thought I'd say to Eric fucking Cartman.

Now I really don't know what to believe anymore.


	18. KB: Where is Kenny?

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

* * *

_When I'm unable to sleep, it would make me happy if you could gently grip my hand__  
__Please quietly assure me that morning will come, even if it's a lie_

Aimer

**Kyle Broflovski – Where is Kenny?**

It's Sunday now. There has been a devastatingly absent feeling left lingering throughout the house. I'm waiting for a call, a text, for his screen name to pop up, anything that will prove to me that he was indeed telling the truth. When I think about it and put it into a logical perspective, I feel stupid sitting here and waiting for my dead friend to walk through the door.

I haven't been watching TV, reading books, or doing any homework. I'm embarrassed to say I haven't showered today either.

Death changes people and it hurts. It hurts all the people left behind as much as the one it was inflicted upon. I'm learning this, and I'm starting to wonder if it's a lesson I've learned before like Kenny seemed so sure of.

Before it happened, I didn't really think about death. I've never been close to anyone that died. The only time it will cross my mind is when those sad commercials come on television about the cancers or the dangers of drunk driving.

But ever since Kenny drove that knife into his chest, it's all I can think about. It hasn't left my mind once.

It makes me think of a conversation we once had.

"Suicide is selfish," I told him, but he just shook his head and smiled, looking incredibly knowing yet patient.

"Sometimes," he started, "Sometimes it is more selfish to keep someone alive for the benefit of yourself. I know it's hard, but you need to think about it in a different perspective."

I could never look at it the same way again, and I still wish I had just kept my mouth shut.

I swallow the lump that's starting to form in my throat. I'm sitting on the steps in front of my house, desperately waiting for any sign of Kenny. Each time I hear footsteps I look up, but it's never the person I hope it is.

"Hey, Broflovski," I hear a voice say.

I look up to see Token Black standing on the sidewalk. I must have zoned out.

"Oh, h-hey."

"What are you doing outside in this weather?" he asks, walking up my driveway.

"I'm just waiting."

"Waiting for…?" he lifts an eyebrow.

"Kenny."

"Ah," Token says, making a strange face.

"What's the face for?"

He shrugs, "McCormick is a strange guy."

"Is he? I haven't really noticed, but I seem to be the only one who hasn't."

Token gives a good-natured laugh, "I'm sure you have, you've just gotten used to it. You, Marsh, Cartman and McCormick have all been attached by the hip since we were in preschool."

"Yeah, maybe…" I consider. "Why do you think he's strange?"

"Lots of people avoid talking about McCormick because he just happens to know things. Nobody knows how, he just does. He kind of freaks people out like that. He has a knack for omniscience."

"He knows things?"

"Yeah," Token says, "It's a little unsettling."

"What kind of things does he seem to know?" I ask, hoping to get an answer that makes some sense.

"Well, you know," he starts, "It's like he's everywhere at once, keeping an eye on us all. A few years ago, Craig was absent from school. A lot of rumors were going around as to where he might be, but McCormick just shooed all the rumors away and said, 'Naw, man, he's upset because his guinea pig, Stripe, just died,' and no one questioned it. He even knew the thing's name."

"Hm," I muse, recalling that day. "I guess you're right about that."

"You remember how closed up Craig was?" he asks and I nod in response. "Well, he's the same way, he hasn't really changed in that department I suppose. That's why we all found it so strange that he told McCormick about his guinea pig. We asked him what made him want to tell McCormick, but he just looked at us like we just stuck a bunch of forks in a toaster oven. He insisted that he didn't tell McCormick anything."

"Oh," is all I say.

Token shrugs, "But it doesn't matter anymore. At least, I don't think it does. McCormick is a good guy, just a bit different."

"Yeah," I smile.

"Anyway, I'll see you around, Broflovski," he pats my back. "You should get your skinny ass back inside before you catch sick. It's pretty chilly out here."

"Yeah," I say again, though I don't end up taking his advice.

* * *

Kenny never showed up.

It's dark now and my parents made me come inside.

After I walked in, I entered the kitchen. My mom scolded me for staying outside and forced me to drink a mug of that awful lemony tea in hopes it'll prevent me from getting a cold.

I was staring at the little digital clock above the stove. Just staring. I'm not sure for how long, but Ike came up behind me and asked me if I was okay, so I must have been there for quite a while.

"I'm fine," I had told him.

"Is this about Kenny?" he asked carefully.

"No, not everything is about Kenny," I said in a voice that gave the true answer away.

"Okay," he whispered and he left it at that, though he probably wasn't convinced.

I know that people probably think I'm acting ridiculous, but they just don't know what it is I'm being forced to think about.

Kenny.

Kenny Kenny Kenny Kenny.

Where is he?

It's already been a day and he hasn't returned. I'm beginning to feel stupid for starting to believe that he might have come back. When people die, they stay dead. That is one of nature's laws.

I put a hand over my stomach and twist the material of my shirt.

I hate this feeling and I want to hate Kenny for doing this, but I can't hate him.

There's nothing I can do. I retreat to my room to try and study, though I doubt anything will sink in. I just need a distraction.

This lasts for mere minutes until –

"Hey."

I look up and see Stan standing in the doorframe with his hand on the knob, twisting it out of nervousness.

"Hey," I say. "What're you doing here?"

"Can't I pay my super best friend a late night visit?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. It reminds me of something Kenny would do.

I softly laugh and shake my head.

"You're mom says you're acting strange." He wanders into my room cautiously.

"I'm fine," I say.

"She doesn't seem to think so. She says you spent the day sitting outside. I'll be surprised if you don't wake up with a cold."

"Yeah, yeah," I roll my eyes.

"So, what were you doing?" he asks.

I shrug. "Have you seen Kenny lately?"

Stan shakes his head. "He was supposed to come over today but he never showed."

"Oh…" I say, feeling my eyebrows knit together.

"But I wouldn't worry; he always does this."

"You're right…"

"I wish he'd tell us where he went, though. We're his best friends, yet it feels like he knows us better than any of us know him. I bet he has all sorts of crazy secrets."

"I know."

"Kenny has this special ability," Stan continues, "it's like… he just knows things. I don't know how, he just does. It's like a sixth sense."

"Token said something similar to me earlier, though he used the word 'omniscience'."

Stan nodded, "You can sit with him for hours, in complete silence and just let thoughts race through your head and be sure he knows exactly what you want to tell him. A lot of people think it's strange and it puts them off…" he shrugs, "I think it makes him kind of special, y'know?"

"Kenny's always been kind of special like that, hasn't he?"

"Yeah…" he agrees, and before I can help it I start to cry.

I am not an elegant crier like the pretty ladies in movies. My eyes get all bloodshot and puffy, my face gets tear-stained and my nose runs. I make these choked sounds like I'm trying to stifle my crying, but I never can.

"Hey," Stan says gently, "Hey, Kyle, what is it?" He puts his hands on my shoulders and draws me up into his chest. I bring my arms around him and fist the material of his sweater.

I can't answer him. I just shake and sob grossly into his chest until I no longer have the energy.

Stan doesn't loosen his grip. "Kyle, please tell me what's wrong? You're scaring me…"

I shake my head, pressing my cheek to his chest. "It's not my story to tell," I whisper, my voice sounding hoarser than usual.

"It's Kenny's?" he asks, assuming correct.

"It's Kenny's," I confirm.

"Is he… okay?" he asks, rubbing the back of my head in a comforting manner.

"I don't know."

Kenny…

He'll come back.

He has to.

Right?

* * *

After I've calmed down, I decide to ask Stan about how things are going with Wendy. Partially as a distraction, but I also do want to help him figure things out.

Stan sighs, running a hand down his face. "She wouldn't even listen to me. She's so adamant on keeping the baby she's starting picking out names and everything… I don't know what to do."

"Can you see yourself starting a family with Wendy?"

"Well, yeah… But I always thought it would happen later on in our life."

I smile a bit, "Time's going by fast. You'll be nineteen next year, and the year after that you'll be twenty. No longer a teenager. No longer a kid. I think you can do this."

"I don't think I'll be a good father," Stan admits.

_Ah, the truth comes out._

"That's okay, though," I say, "It's said that the people who worry make the best parents."

"How?" he asks.

"They are careful. People who are too confident are less careful. Parental anxieties are perfectly natural. To be honest, I'd be much more concerned if you adapted to the idea of being a teenaged parents too quickly."

I try to come up with some of the positive aspects of this. Money won't be a problem, for one thing. Stan does construction a few days a week, and Wendy works at a preschool. I'm sure Randy and Sharon would be willing to help, same with Wendy's parents. They're not alone in this.

I tell this to Stan, and he just nods miserably.

"I'm not really worried about how my parents will take it," he says, "It's Wendy's parents I'm worried about… I'm the guy that got her pregnant. Her Dad's gonna murder my ass."

"Maybe, maybe not. They know you, they like you. It's not your fault. It takes two to make a baby and condoms tend to break more than you think. This kind of thing happens a lot more than one might assume. They'll understand."

"I hope…" he sighs. "I knew the risk. I mean, everyone knows that there's always a risk, but everyone also assumes that it'll never happen to them. It's just something that happens to other people."

"That's called the 'optimism bias'. People like to think they are less at risk of experiencing shocking or unpleasant events than others and that's where they are often sorely mistaken," I frown, "These things… They can happen to anyone."

"Yeah…"

"It's a big step, but you can do it. You'll be great."

I think Stan will be fine.

"Thanks, Kyle."

"Anytime, Stan."

Yeah, I think he will be just fine…

Hopefully Kenny will be fine, too.


	19. SM: Together

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**I man I just rewatched the episode where that dude, Tad, keeps calling Stan "Darsh". Every time I think about it I laugh my ass off. I don't even know why it's so funny. I'm even laughing as I type this.**

* * *

_Everyone knows I'm in over my head_

The Fray

**Stan Marsh – Together**

Sometimes I think Kyle might like Kenny more than he likes me. The way he reacts when he finds out Kenny isn't going to be around is proof enough.

There is nothing worse than seeing somebody cry when they are trying so hard not to. I can't remember the last time I saw Kyle cry like that.

I wonder if he'd ever cry like that over me, or maybe Kenny's just special… But I guess I wouldn't want to be the cause of someone's tears, especially not Kyle's.

I suppose that there always has been something between them. I don't exactly know what, but there is. I just haven't realized it until now.

Kyle didn't come to school today. He either did end up catching a cold, or he's still too upset.

I wanted to pry. I wanted to ask him what was up with Kenny, but I didn't. Kenny's been getting himself into shit since we were kids, so part of me can imagine what sort of things are going on with him and the other part of me doesn't really want to.

But anyway…

"Stan," Wendy greets me coolly as I find her at her locker.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"I know you are…" she sighs, "So am I."

"Wendy, can we talk now?" I fidget.

"Can it wait until later?" she asks, "Class starts in a couple minutes."

"Yeah, 'kay…" I agree, because I know how much Wendy hates to miss class.

She offers me a small smile, and we walk into English.

"Where's Kahl and Kinny?" Cartman asks once I take my seat next to him, with Wendy on my opposite side.

I shrug, "I don't know… Kyle was pretty upset about something last night, though he wouldn't tell me exactly what that was."

"Hm," Cartman muses, not pressing the issue further, which is strange behaviour for him. Usually when Kyle is upset, Cartman is first in line to ask why so he can tease him about it later on.

"Is he okay?" Wendy asks.

"I'm honestly not sure," I say, "and I haven't seen Kenny in a couple days. No one knows where he is."

"He does that sometimes, though, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he does," I shrug, "But I don't know. This time seemed a little different… Kyle was… I don't know."

"Hopefully they're both okay…" she says.

"Yeah," I sigh, suddenly feeling even more miserable.

* * *

After classes, I follow Wendy back out to her locker where she puts her books away. I feel like an annoying dog that's been trailing behind her all day.

"Okay," she says, "Do you want to talk now?"

I nod, "Where?"

"Do you have your car today?"

I nod again.

"Well then, let's go," she says, taking my arm.

"O-okay."

"You can drive me home while we're at it," she smiles.

I think she wants to make this work as much as I do, so we walk to my car and I wait for her to start.

"I'm sorry to make you wait to talk."

"It's fine," I tell her, "I know there's nothing that can keep you away from school."

"True enough," the corners of her mouth quirk upward briefly before she starts to frown. "Don't be angry at your friend, but Kenneth knew."

"What?" I ask, only half surprised.

"He knew… I don't know how, but he knew. He confronted me about it a while ago."

I feel my eyebrows draw together, "Why didn't he tell me…?"

"I didn't want him to," she says, looking down at her hands. "I'm sorry. I know I should have, and Kenneth… He was nice about it. He was really nice. Too nice. I'm always especially cruel to him, but he still understood. He's a good person. I feel like no one gives him enough credit for that…"

"I know."

"Stan," she whispers, looking up at me, "What are we going to do?"

"What do you _want_ to do?" I ask, "Do you want to keep it? Do you want to raise this kid together?"

"I do, but…" she places a hand on her womb, "I'm scared."

I smile a bit, remembering my conversation with Kyle. "So am I, but hey, it would be strange if we weren't scared."

She returns my smile with a small one of her own, "I suppose that's true."

"But… you'll have me," I say, "You aren't in this alone."

"Really?" she asks.

I nod, "I'm not going anywhere, Wendy… and I'm sorry if I made you think I was."

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still scared shitless, but I love Wendy, and I think that… Maybe we can do this if we do it together.

"Oh, Stan…" she whispers, leaning forward to wrap her arms around my neck. "Thank you."

I rub my hand up and down her back, "You'll make a good mom."

"And you, you'll be a great dad."

* * *

Telling Wendy's parents went about as well as you could expect. Her dad yelled at me. I think he wanted to smack me around a bit, but Wendy just said, "It takes two to make a child," and he stopped.

Her mother wasn't as vocal, but you could see that she was shocked.

"What about your plans for the future?" she asked.

Wendy just shook her head, "To be honest, I never really had any."

"But you're so smart, it would be a shame not to make something of yourself."

"Mom, stop," Wendy said, "You aren't going to change my mind… Being a mother _is_ something."

And that was that. Everyone knows that when Wendy Testaburger decides to do something, there is no going back for her.

I just continued to sit on the sofa next to her, probably looking incredibly meek and uncomfortable, until we left to tell my parents.

My mother was disappointed, I could tell, but she didn't say anything. She just listened to us explain the situation and making my dad refrain from interrupting us every two minutes.

My dad… Jesus Christ he is an idiot. I can't deny that. He's my dad, I love him, but he is an idiot. Anyone who lives here in South Park knows it. So, of course, I thought he would yell, or be incredibly dramatic about the whole thing, but I have to give him some credit, he was pretty damn calm. Certainly calmer than Wendy's dad, which I'm pretty thankful for. I wouldn't want my own father yelling at me too.

I drove Wendy back home afterwards and now I'm just sitting here alone on my bed, wondering if I should call Kyle.


	20. KB: Tell me a story

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

* * *

_I'm hanging on to the words you say, you said that I would be okay_

Lifehouse

**Kyle Broflovski – Tell me a story**

My head aches horribly and I feel like my muscles might be trying to eat themselves. I suppose that sounds pretty dramatic.

It's a late Monday evening and I'm sitting on my bed, still wearing the clothes I slept in: a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. I didn't go to school today. I couldn't.

Stan called me an hour ago to check up on me. I told him I was okay, and asked him how he was doing. He seems better, more relieved. He's still scared, which is understandable, but I think he'll definitely be okay…

I'm sitting here with a book on my lap trying to concentrate on the words but nothing is registering.

I hear two firm knocks at my bedroom door, causing me tear my gaze away from the words.

"Come in," I say, staring intensely at the door.

As it swings open, I see a beautifully familiar figure standing in the doorway.

"Miss me?" he asks.

"Kenny…"

He lifts his shirt up to reveal his chest, grinning, "See? Not even a scar."

"Kenny…" I whisper again, with wide eyes, as if I'm afraid blinking may cause him to vanish.

"Hey," he says.

I get off the sofa, fall into his arms and almost immediately begin to sob into his chest, murmuring various apologies.

Kenny wraps both of his arms around me. "You don't need to apologize, Kyle," he says, rubbing my back as I continue to hiccup grossly into his sweater. "I'm the one who should apologize…"

"Why?" I ask, muffling the question into his sweater.

"I hurt you, in more ways than one." He pulls the neck of my shirt below my shoulder. "Jesus, see, you even have bruises… Fuck. I'm really sorry, Kyle…"

"It's fine," I say, pulling away from him. "You know I bruise easily."

"I'm sorry," he says again.

"I'm sorry, too," I say.

He nods, wiping the tears off my cheek with brisk swipe of his thumb. "Let's both try not to cry anymore, hey?"

"Mm," I mumble in agreement.

"Do you forgive me?"

"Of course!" I say, without hesitance.

He smiles.

"I'm really happy you're okay," I smile back, "I was beginning to think you wouldn't be."

"Heh… Yeah, I'm sorry."

I just shake my head.

"Uh, so, Kyle," Kenny says, clearing his throat, "I've been meaning to tell you something… I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and the more I think about it, the more I feel that I need to say it."

"What is it?"

"Okay… Uh, well," he rubs the back of his head, "I've never done this before."

"What?" I frown.

"You know how sometimes… Sometimes you can just be around somebody and know that they're something special? You don't need to talk or anything, you can just be there with them in silence and you just know. You just know that they're the most amazing thing in the world."

I swallow thickly, "Why are you saying all this?"

"At the risk of sounding really cliché and stupid, that's what I feel like when I'm around you."

"Kenny…"

"It's okay, if you don't feel the same way," he shrugs, putting on a good-natured smile. "I just needed to say it. I think I've needed to say it for a while now."

I watch his lips part as if he's about to say something else, but he doesn't so I choose that moment to lean in and shut my mouth over his.

Never in a million years would I have thought I'd have the courage to make it happen, but here I am.

I'm kissing Kenny McCormick.

I haven't had very much experience kissing, but I think I'm doing all right.

Kenny grins once we break apart. "Come with me," he says, "I want to show you something."

"Okay." I look up at him, "But what is it?"

"You'll see."

I slip on my jacket and boots and Kenny takes me by the hand as we reach the snowy streets.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

He doesn't say anything else, he walks with silent purpose and doesn't let go of my hand once until we reach our destination.

"Hey, this… This is the graveyard?" I ask once we come to a stop in front of the old iron gates.

He nods solemnly and says, "I don't want to upset you… but this is important."

"Okay."

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah," I say, though I'm not sure if I am.

I follow him, trying to keep up with his brisk pace as best as I can as he walks deeper and deeper into the graveyard. Once I catch up with him, I find him standing in front of a grave with a marble tombstone.

I kneel in front of it after reading the name, placing a hand over my mouth. "Oh, God…"

_Kenneth McCormick_

_Sleep well little child_

_The lord holds thee now_

_1994.3.22_

"March twenty-second 1994," I read, before looking up at Kenny. "That's the day you were born."

"I know," he laughs bitterly, kneeling beside me. "Isn't that sad?"

"It's been happening that long…" I trace the carved letters and numbers with shaky fingers. "Are there other graves?"

Kenny nods his head, "They're all over this place."

"Why didn't you show us? Instead of hurting yourself?"

"Would it have been proof enough? I don't know." He laughs a bit, "Can you imagine the things Eric'd say? He'd probably convince you of a thousand fake reasons as to why that grave was there."

"Maybe," I admit, swallowing the guilty lump in my throat. "How can I make it up to you?"

He shakes his head, "No, Kyle. You don't have to do that."

I frown.

"You shouldn't' feel bad. You have nothing to make up for. I should have handled it better, I mean, I guess there would be room for concern if you _did_ believe me so easily," he laughs. "I must have sounded pretty crazy, huh?"

"A bit," I smile, "But nevertheless, I am sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry of."

"But I do."

"What?" he asks, sounding like he honestly doesn't know.

"I'm sorry for making you upset," I let out a small sigh, "And for not being there for you when you needed it most. You had all those sad secrets you've been forced to keep for far too long."

I feel like I finally understand Kenny a little better. Carrying all those secrets like that explains a lot of his behaviour over the years. A lot of it was his way of coping.

Kenny shrugs, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his orange sweater. "It's fine, Kyle."

"But –"

Kenny cuts me off with a shake of his head, "I made it harder than it had to be."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry as well," he says, "For being so far away."

"It's okay," I say, "I suppose… We're all a little insecure."

"That's one way of putting it."

* * *

Once we return to my house, we sleep together in my bed. Not sex, just sleep, the way we always do.

And it's nice. Peaceful.

"Hey, is there a God?" I ask. It's a question he probably expected.

"Mm," Kenny muses, "I don't know."

"Do you think there is?"

"I'm not sure," he admits, "But I think there probably is. It's like… if you believe in one, you have to believe in the other."

"You believe in the devil?"

"Yeah."

"Is there a heaven?" I ask.

"M'not supposed to talk about things like that…" he mumbles back sleepily.

"Aw," I frown.

"Instead," he says, looking over at me, "I can talk about waking up?"

"All right."

"It's always the same sort of feeling, you know?" he starts, "There's a pull and I'm forced back into a brand new body. While I'm dead, it's like I forget who I am. I have no worries; I just exist in the simplest form."

"It sounds… almost nice."

"I guess, in a weird way, it kind of is… I never looked at it like that before."

I smile a bit, "Then what?"

"I feel myself being returned home. I don't know how I get there, but I always end up waking up alone in my bed. Always alone."

"That's sad…" I say. "I wish I could be there when you woke."

"Yeah," he whispers.

"What do you think about before you die?"

"Mostly about how I don't want to die," he laughs.

"Oh…" I frown.

"It's funny," he whispers in a way that tells me it probably isn't, "Most people kill themselves to escape their problems, but that is my problem. I'm tired of the hurting and I'd like very much for it to stop. I ask myself, 'Well what're you going to do about it? Kill yourself?' Ha! It's just too funny, in the saddest, stupidest possible way."

"I wish I could help."

"It's okay, Kyle," he says, "You're doing more than enough."

I offer him another small smile. "Tell me a story," I say.

And, like always, he does.


	21. KB: Conversation with a genius

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**I suppose I need to address a few things. I got a really funny anon review last week. This person was going on about how much they hate Wendy and the fact that I spent time on her plot. But hey, maybe _I_ like her and this is my**** fanfiction after all. I write this for my own enjoyment, and if you guys enjoy it too then that makes me happy, but if not don't bother letting me know. I'd never go around telling someone how they should write their fanfictions/etc, so I'm asking the same from you guys. But anyway, sorry for the rant, you guys have been great and I'm appreciative!**

**Another thing, yes Kyle does remember Kenny's death. If that part confused you, go back and read the end of chapter 17, thanks. It didn't occur to me that it might've been unclear to anyone, so my bad (:**

* * *

_There are answers we're not wise enough to see_

Five for Fighting

**Kyle Broflovski – Conversation with a genius**

"I'm so disappointed in myself I can actually physically feel it," I grumble, taking a seat across from Cartman at the school lunch table.

"Does it feel like double penetration?" he asks, the words mumbled because of all the food in his mouth.

"That is _not_ what I mean!" I give him an annoyed look.

He just laughs, spitting food all over the table.

"You were right," I whisper.

"Huh? Can you speak up?"

"You were right," I say a little louder.

"What was that, Kahl?"

"Don't push your fucking luck, fat-ass."

Cartman grins, looking mildly Satanic. "And dear Kahl, what exactly is it that I am right about?"

"Kenny, he's back. He's… He's fine. I saw him last night."

"Just like I told you," Cartman says, taking another bite of his burger.

"Why the fuck haven't you ever said anything?" I growl, "Why haven't you ever backed him up when he started shouting about it to us?"

"I told you already," Cartman shrugs, "To piss him off, mostly."

"You're such an asshole," I say, and then, "Thank you."

He looks taken aback by this. "Yeah, whatever, dumb Jew," he says after putting on a neutral expression.

I can't help but smile.

It's funny. I guess I don't give Cartman enough credit. I still remember him as someone who would fantasize about brutality, oppression, and other sick things… someone who found the most devious pleasure in the most violent pornographies. Yeah, he had an unhealthy obsession with various types of sexual and social deviance. He loved victimization. I was one of his favorite people to fuck around with when we were young. I can still recall, with perfectly vivid clarity, the bet where I had to suck his… Ugh, anyway.

"Weird, isn't it?" he asks.

"What is?"

"Kenny's whole… situation."

"Yeah," I say, "But like you said, a lot of weird stuff happens here."

He just nods.

"What're you guys talking about?" Stan asks as he approaches the table with Kenny, who is biting into an apple.

I shrug, "Nothing really."

"Well you aren't arguing, so that's good enough for me," Stan says, sitting down next to Cartman and leaving the empty spot beside me for Kenny to occupy.

Kenny grins at me, wiggling his eyebrows, before taking another bite into his apple.

I'm not sure exactly what I'm supposed to classify my relationship with Kenny as… I want to say we're "dating" but we've never gone out in an actual date. I don't want to believe that I'm just another body for Kenny. I hope I mean more to him than just that…

Do people even still date these days?

"Kyle, we can practically hear the gears in your brain whirring," Stan laughs, "What's got you thinking so hard?"

"Oh," I laugh, "Nothing, just the usual, school and so on…"

Stan nods in an understanding manner. "Do you know where you're applying for university yet?"

I shake my head, "I have a few choices, but we'll see."

"That's good," Stan says, "I'm sure universities will be lining up to have you."

"Heh. What about you?" I ask, "Do you think you'll start working full time at the construction site?"

"Yeah," he says, "That looks like my best option. It's easy work, plus I guess I don't hate it."

"It's a decent job," I agree.

* * *

After school a bunch of us played basketball. It was Kenny, Token and I against Stan, Cartman and Clyde. My team won. Cartman was pretty sour about it and now I'm walking home with Kenny. I have a lot I want to ask him, but I can't bring myself to open my mouth.

"_Oi_, McCormick."

"Fuck," I hear Kenny hiss under his breath as we both turn around.

There's a middle aged man sitting in a car with the window rolled down.

I feel my eyebrows draw together. I think I have an idea of what might be happening.

Kenny takes a step forward, but I grab his hand.

"Huh?" he says, looking at me. I just shake my head.

Kenny takes the hint and stays standing beside me. "The fuck do you want?" he asks in an angry mumble.

"Who's your friend?" the man asks and I feel my inside start to flop around unpleasantly.

"Don't even look at him," Kenny grinds out.

"Where've you been lately, McCormick?" the man looks Kenny up and down, "There ain't nobody else who can take it quite like you can."

I hear Kenny take a deep breath, but he doesn't reply. The look on his face says enough.

"Hey," I pipe in, "Roll up your window and fuck off."

"You can't escape a reputation you created!" the man says to Kenny before driving off.

"You really had to deal with people like that?" I frown, seeing why he might've given in so many times in the past.

"I'm really sorry, Kyle," he says, not turning to face me.

I swallow harshly, my throat feeling dry. "It's fine, Kenny. Don't listen to what he said, it isn't your fault."

He shakes his head, "No, it isn't. it's not fine, it's not okay. It's horrible."

"Kenny, no…"

"I am so fucked up," he whispers, balling his fists and shoving into the pockets of his sweatshirt.

"You're not alone there," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "Become a writer."

"Why?" he asks, finally turning around to look at me.

"Because the best writers were all fucked up at some point in their lives, right?" I say, and he laughs.

"Aye, aye."

"But in all seriousness, you don't want to do that kind of thing anymore, do you?" I ask as we begin to walk again.

He shakes his head.

I shrug, "Then that's it."

"It's more difficult than just admitting it, Kyle."

"I know, but admitting it out loud is a start," I say. "Don't reply when those people call your name on the street. Don't give it any thought. Just leave. Nothing that happened to you is your fault, okay?"

"Okay," he whispers.

"Can this mean that you're finished punishing yourself?" I ask.

"I don't know if I can say that's what it truly was," he admits.

"What do you mean?"

"After all _that_ happened, I began to read books," he starts, "I mean, I didn't want to admit what happened, but at the same time I found myself looking desperately for a way to fix the way I felt… I found something called 'sexual therapy' and sure, it doesn't work for everyone… But… I guess I assumed it would be my best option because it would also provide me with some sort of income. I could kill two birds with one stone."

"Oh," I say, "Did it help?"

"I don't really know," he shrugs, "Sometimes I feel like it did, but sometimes I feel like I just dug myself into an even deeper hole."

We soon approach my house, but before I turn into the driveway Kenny grabs my hand gives me a peck on the lips.

"Thank you, Kyle."

"What for?"

He shrugs, "Just for being here. Listening to me whine."

I watch him walk away for a minute before going inside.

Ike is in the living room watching old reruns of _Terrence and Phillip_. I sit down beside him. This show makes me feel so nostalgic.

"How was your day?" Ike asks me, turning away from the television.

"It was good," I say, "How was yours?"

"Also good."

I nod, even though he can't see it.

"Are you _with_ Kenny?"

"I don't know," I admit, because honestly I don't.

"Do you want to be?"

"I guess…"

He looks over at me, "I knew it."

I roll my eyes at him.

"I like Kenny," Ike says, "He'll be good for you, and you'll be good for him. Hopefully our parents will see it that way too."

"Ugh," I groan, "Don't tell them about any of this just yet. I still need to figure out exactly what 'this' is."

Ike nods his head, returning his attention back to the television.


	22. CT: Let's be honest

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**I finished writing this, now I just have to remember to post chapters... Things are going to get pretty weird.**

* * *

_I bit my tongue in the ark of conversation_

Angus and Julia Stone

**Craig Tucker – Let's be honest**

Kyle Broflovski was drunk off his ass.

I wasn't.

I knew what I was doing.

I knew I'd regret it in the morning. Maybe even the second it was over.

I knew he'd probably regret it too.

But I didn't care. I needed a distraction and he was there. He was easy.

My high had worn off, but I still went in for the kill.

I knew I'd regret it, sure, but I didn't think I would regret it as much as I do. Kyle was a virgin. He was hurting. I hurt him. I hurt him, and I knew I was hurting him.

He was crying, but he told me to keep going. I shouldn't have listened, I should have stopped. I should have realized what was happening...

I left him alone afterwards, partially because I was so angry with myself.

I guess I got over it pretty quick, since I ended up fucking him again.

I never took anyone's virginity before.

Before I'd ever had sex, I had been told that you never forget your first. When I lost my virginity, I didn't think much of it, but six years later I realize it's true.

I was thirteen. Kenny and I went to a party with a mission. We were determined not to return home as virgins. Neither of us did.

We lost it to a couple of girls who were fifteen. I guess we looked a little older than we actually were because when we told them we were fifteen too they didn't question us. They weren't anything special to look at, but we didn't care.

The girls wanted me and Kenny to play with each other before they'd have sex with us, so we complied and touched each other's dicks. At one point I think I had my mouth around it, but it didn't mean anything. We were drunk, but I think this is what helped me figure out I wasn't all that into girls.

I didn't know what to do so I just kissed that girl all soft like before I started fucking her and it was nice.

"Oh, please, harder, faster."

She kept saying things like that.

It was the only time I looked at someone, really looked at them, while I fucked them. I realized that I didn't want to do it again. Not until... Well, not yet. It felt too intimate and it scared me. I felt like crying, but I held it in. It was still nice, though.

I guess that all sounds pretty messed up.

After it was over, we all just talked. They told us that they wanted to die and showed us the cuts on their thin wrists. I guess they were stuck in that emo teenaged angst phase, or maybe they really did have emotional troubles. At the time I just remember hoping that I'd never grow to become so hateful towards myself.

I can't say I regret that night, because it would be a lie. I don't regret it, but maybe I should. Maybe I should have felt as dirty as I do now back then.

School's over so I guess now would be a good time to go and sort this out.

I shove my books in my backpack and leave to find Kyle.

* * *

When I eventually find him, he's standing outside chatting with soon-to-be-father Stan Marsh.

"Hey," I say.

"Craig…" Kyle says after turning to face me, "Hi."

Stan gives us both a weird look.

"Kyle," I say, trying not to shift awkwardly under Stan's glance, "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Um, all right," he says carefully, like he knows exactly how the conversation is going to go.

He follows me and we both make our way to the back of the school.

He's silent, looking everywhere but at me.

"You okay?" I ask, noting the bags under his eyes.

He shrugs, "I have a lot on my mind."

"Ah."

"Yeah… So what was it that you needed?" he asks.

"I think you already know." I sigh, running a hand through my hair "I want to say sorry."

He shakes his head and smiles a bit, "You don't have to apologize, as I've said before."

"But I want to, please let me," I say.

"The second time it happened, I was the one who came to you."

"Please, Kyle."

He holds up his hands, "Fine."

We sit on the cement stairwell and I pull out a cigarette, lighting it.

"Want one?" I offer, but he declines.

"I don't smoke."

Obviously.

I put the package back in my jacket pocket. "That night, you were drunk," I start, "and I knew that, but it didn't stop me."

"You were high."

I shake my head, "I was pretending to be higher than I actually was."

"Oh."

"I took advantage of you. It's all I've been able to think about since it happened. I feel bad," I continue, "But I don't want you to think I'm saying sorry just to make myself feel better. I want to make it up to you somehow."

"You don't have to do that," he whispers.

"I might not _have to_, but I want to… And as for the other time, you were probably hurting, and that's why you came to me. Am I right?"

"You know," he smiles a bit, "you are a lot nicer than everyone thinks."

I give a short laugh and shake my head.

_I'm really not…_

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Why did you sleep with me?"

I pause and think carefully. Why did I do it?

"I can't be with the person I want to be with. So…" I trail off.

"So you go around sleeping with other people to try and make yourself forget about them," he finishes for me, "But it only works for short moments. When it's over, those feelings come back full force."

I nod, "Yeah…"

"I was there and I was convenient."

"Yeah."

"I know how you feel," he says. "That's why I had agreed to sleep with you. I could have easily told you no, but I didn't."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he says. "So don't feel too bad. I guess we both used each other."

I shrug.

"But if you need my forgiveness, I'll give it to you," he holds out his hand, "Craig, you're forgiven."

"Thank you," I say quietly, wrapping my fingers around his.

I hear sirens blaring in the distance, not exactly a rare occurrence here in South Park.

"I wonder what happened," I mumble, letting go of his hand.

Kyle shrugs, "I'm sure we'll be hearing about something tragic on the news tonight..."

"Probably."

"Craig?"

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure."

"Was I bad?" he asks.

I can't help but laugh. "No, I wouldn't say you were bad. You knew what you were doing, and how it all worked… It just looked like you hated it. It looked like you hated yourself, too. I wish I could have made it a better experience for you."

He stands up, "Don't worry about that. The first times are always horrible or awkward, according to most people."

"That's true," I admit. "So are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Craig. It's just strange, I suppose."

"Strange, like how?"

"It's strange not being something that I've been my whole life. I thought I would feel like I'd be missing something, but I'm not. I'm okay."

"I'm glad."

"See you around," he says.

"Later."

"Oh, before we part, I know what you can do to make it up to me," he says, looking me right in the eyes.

"What is it?"

"Be honest with yourself and tell the person you love that you love them."

I feel myself swallow, "How do you know I'm in love?"

Kyle shrugs, "Just a feeling. Why, am I wrong?"

"You're not wrong… Not at all."

I watch Kyle walk away, debating on whether I should take his advice.

Yes…

No.

Yes?

Ah, fuck it.

I guess I know what I'm doing after school… now I just have to find Tweek.


	23. KM: Mortality

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

* * *

_A puppet of their sick perversion's appetite_

Fade

**Kenny McCormick – Mortality**

Yeah, I did a stupid thing.

I hurt someone.

I hurt Kyle.

I hurt one of the most important people in my life.

I was too volatile.

I'm sure that if I took the time to think about it I could have come up with something better, something saner.

Something less traumatizing?

"You killed yourself again," Damien said once I woke up. It's wasn't a question.

"Yeah…"

"Isn't that against the law up there?"

"I need to prove a point," I said, sitting up.

"You want to show this kid that you're not a liar?"

"Exactly."

"Why?"

"Because I care about him," I admitted, "I want him to know."

Damien's lips curled back as he remarked, "Do you think you could have chosen a _worse_ way? That was pretty tactless."

"I know, I know. I was impulsive, but he'll be fine, right?"

"Probably," he gave a careless shrug, taking a seat beside me and crossing his legs.

"I got desperate; it was the only thing I could think of."

He laughed, "And could you have chosen a more painful method?"

"Yeah, yeah, the whole thing was a spur of the moment; I let my anger control me." I rubbed my chest, recalling the pain. It really did hurt.

"You shouldn't let your emotions get the best of you."

I shrugged, "I know."

"Do you think he'll remember it?"

"I hope so."

"For your own sake, I hope so too."

Once I was back in South Park I jumped out of my bed and ran straight to Kyle's.

He knows. As soon as I stepped through the door I knew he knew. It was written all over his face, the relief.

He knows now.

He knows that I'm not a liar.

* * *

I'm at my locker, putting away my math textbook and trying not to listen to a conversation going on a few steps away but I can't help it.

"Wendy's pregnant, can you believe it?" Annie Faulk says.

"Come on, Annie, don't be like that…" Lola mumbles to her friend.

"Be realistic for a minute, Lola," Annie sighs, "She had her whole future ahead of her, the smartest girl in our grade, and now she's going to be Mrs. Marsh with a baby."

"They're engaged?" Lola asks.

"Well, no… but it's probably going to happen soon," Annie continues, "I always thought she was so much smarter than this, but apparently not."

I spin around, "Hello, Lola."

"Hey, Kenny," she says.

I grin, and then turn my head towards Annie.

"Being 'smart' has nothing to do with it. You shouldn't talk about people like that," I tell her.

"And you shouldn't poke your head into private conversations," Annie crosses her arms.

"It was fairly loud for a private conversation," I say, "And shouldn't private conversations be held in a more private location?"

"You're only sticking up for her because you're just as... slutty," Annie says, "We all hear the rumors."

"Ouch," I frown, "You know, having sex does not make a person a slut. Having a lot of sex doesn't make a person a slut. Enjoying it doesn't make them a slut either."

I'd like to believe that... Maybe I'm not only trying to convince Annie of it, but maybe I'm trying to convince myself of it at the same time.

"What about if they do it for money?" she asks, smiling with forced and clearly facetious innocence.

"You don't know me, Annie, and even so, this isn't about me," I say, "And you shouldn't make it about Wendy either. Anyone can get pregnant, no matter how careful they are. I know for a fact you aren't a virgin either, so you should stop running your mouth before I start running mine and trust me, I know things."

Eric fucked her. He wouldn't shut up about it after it happened. He thought it was a riot.

Lola covers her mouth to suppress a laugh.

"McCormick," Annie hisses, "You are such scum."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I say, dismissively.

She scoffs and spins around, walking off.

"I think you won that round," Lola laughs.

"I think so," I grin at her before turning around and exiting the school to make my way home.

Well there is my good deed of the day.

Just kidding. I don't keep count.

I walk at a brisk pace and as soon as I approach my driveway I feel sick. I feel like something is wrong, and those feelings cause me to run.

I'm probably just being overly paranoid like usual, but still…

I swing open the door and it is eerily quiet.

I quietly walk into the living room, and what I see makes bile rise into my throat.

_Shit, shit, shit._

"Mom…? Oh, God… " I hoarsely whisper to myself, staring down. I bend down and begin to shake her, gently at first, but I soon grow desperate. The blood…

"Ma…?"

However, she doesn't move. She just lies there, looking pale and still. Too still.

But warm.

She's still warm.

"Mom…" I repeat, voice cracking.

There's too much blood.

I look at my hands and wipe them on the carpet, taking a shaky breath.

Why?

Why is this happening?

I knew something bad was going to happen. I knew it. I had a feeling, but I didn't know what and now that I do I wish… I don't know what I wish. I don't know what could possibly make this any easier.

I knew something bad was going to happen, and I knew it was going to happen soon. Things were going to well. Maybe I'm being negative, but I knew something bad was bound to happen. I just knew. I felt it.

Of all possibilities, why did it have to be this?

Before I have time to start sobbing, I feel something hard connect with my head followed by a high pitched scream. I fall onto the hard ground and feel a wetness dripping down my face. More blood.

I look up and see my dad, glassy eyed, holding what looks like a chair leg.

I feel my face heat up with anger and other pent up emotions. My throat feels choked up and I'm shaking as I begin to stand.

"She's dead!" I scream at him hysterically, "You killed her, didn't you? You're a murderer, just like Kevin!"

I hear a whimper come from across the room, where I see Karen standing in the corner covering her mouth with both hands.

"Be quiet!" he rasps, turning to face Karen.

Karen…

"Dad…" I whisper, holding my hand out, "Don't go near her."

He wouldn't...

"Don't touch her," I plead. I jump on my dad before he can raise his hand.

"Go!" I desperately yell to her, my vision wavering.

My dad throws me off his back and I once again make contact with the rough floor. I see him coming towards me, hovering over me with a murderous intent in his eyes, and before I can register what happened I find myself in the office of Satan with Damien at my side.

"Kenneth McCormick, the curse is broken."


	24. KM: One step back, two steps forward

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**Thanks for those nice reviews, they keep me goin'! c:**

* * *

_Who says I can't be free f__rom all of the things that I used to be?_

John Mayer

**Kenny McCormick – One step back, two steps forward**

"Wh-what?"

"The death of your mother broke the curse," Damien explains, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"What?" I ask again, sounding desperate, "No! Why did it have to be that?"

"There are rules," Satan explains.

"What rules?" I demand, trying to force my voice to sound strong.

"I suppose since it is over you can know the truth."

"What _truth_?" I spit, swallowing the lump in my throat and trying not to allow any tears to escape.

"You are aware of your parent's cult involvement?"

"They worshipped Cthulu… _for the beer_…" I mumble, recalling old childhood memories.

Satan nods, "In return, he made the son of Stuart and Carol McCormick immortal, considering it a gift. Each time you died, she gave birth to you again. Without her alive to give birth to you, the curse ceases to exist."

"So… I guess that's why I never scarred."

He simply nods again.

"I'm not going back this time, am I?" I ask hesitantly, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

Satan seems to consider for a moment.

"Not so," he finally says. "You will, from here on, no longer be living a half-life and the next time you die you will not return to Earth."

"But will it be like it was when I had immortality? Will death still follow me around? Because if that's the case I'll probably only live for another couple days at best…"

"No," Satan says, holding up a hand. "As I said, the curse is broken. Death was part of the curse."

"Oh," is all I can muster. I think I'm far too shocked for anything else.

My wish has finally been answered.

"Is that all you have to say?" he asks, "I thought you'd be pleased, what with your constant whining whenever you're down here."

"It's… It's a lot to process," I say, swallowing. "Is there any way you can tell me how long I'll be living?"

Satan laughs, it sounds malicious and cruel even though I have a feeling that isn't necessarily his intention. "Regretfully, that is something I cannot do, but trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about. It will work out in the end."

"Trust _you_?"

He smiles deviously, momentarily reminding me of Eric. "Do you have much of a choice?"

"I suppose not," I admit.

"Now before we send you home, there's someone who wants to speak with you," Satan gestures to the doorway, where the spirit of my mother is standing.

Oh, God…

"Ma?" I choke.

"Kenny," she smiles, opening her arms. I make my way over to her and she wraps them around me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, "If I'd gotten home a few minutes earlier…"

"No, baby… I'm the one who should be sorry, for all the hurt your father and I caused you and your sister."

I wrap my arms around her, fisting the material of her shirt and burying my head in the crook of her neck.

"It's okay, Ma," I say softly, voice muffled. "Everything will be okay…"

"Yeah," she quietly agrees. "Take care of Karen."

"I will," I say, "You know I will."

We separate and she puts her hand on my cheek.

"I love you," she says, for the first time in years.

"I love you too, Ma."

"Make me proud."

And before I can answer her, I'm ripped away. Here it is: that familiar pull that tells me that I'm going home. I'm going home, and this time it's for good.

I take a deep breath, count down.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

…One.

"Hey, guys… He's waking up!"

"Kenny?"

"Give him room to breathe, stupid Jew."

"Asshole, don't call me that!"

"Guys, now isn't the time for a fight…"

"Quiet, hippie."

I slowly open my eyes and am met with the worried faces of Kyle and Stan, and the somewhat worried face of Eric.

I take in their expressions.

"Hey guys," I swallow, forcing a smile and probably looking fairly sheepish.

"Ugh," Kyle sighs and throws his arms around me.

I laugh and rub his back.

"Fags," I hear Eric say, but rather than its usually nasty tone, it sounds almost… fond?

"So what happened up here?" I ask once Kyle lets me go.

"No one exactly knows for sure," he says.

"Oh," I say. "Where's Karen?"

"She's asleep in the waiting room. Want us to wake her?"

I shake my head, "No. Let her sleep for now. She'll have a lot to process once she wakes up…"

Kyle nods, then says, "You were dead, but you started breathing again. The doctors said it was a miracle."

I smile a bit, "It was a bit of a miracle…"

Stan looks confused, "What the hell are you guys talking about?"

Kyle looks up at Stan and says, "Do you remember when we were young and we played superheroes?"

He laughs at the memory, "Jeez, yeah, I remember that."

"Remember how Kenny's power was immortality?"

Stan nods.

"And remember how he was always yelling at us and telling us that he wasn't pretending and he really was immortal?"

He nods again, slowly this time, with his eyebrows drawing together.

"It's true!" Kyle finishes enthusiastically, "It was all true. That's why he was always disappearing for days."

"Actually," I interrupt, "I'm not immortal anymore. Next time I die, it'll be for good."

"What?" Kyle snaps at me, looking horrified.

"Don't worry, I won't be dying any time soon," I reassure him.

"You're sure?"

I nod.

"Really?"

I nod again.

"But how? How did it happen?"

"Well," I say, and I begin to relay the conversation I had with Satan prior to waking up. My voice cracks at the mention of my mother, but I think that saying goodbye to her gave me some closure. I'm going to try and make her proud.

Th guysy all listen intently; Eric looking particularly fascinated. These morbid sorts of things always fascinate him.

"Goddamn," Stan interjects. "I can't believe it."

"Well you best believe it!" I say, getting out of the hospital bed to stretch.

Stan grimaces, "Nice, Kenny, nice."

"Huh?"

"Ew, Kinny," Eric whines, "I'm not gay like Kahl and I don't want to see your ass!"

"_Cartman!"_ Kyle hisses, attempting to charge Eric before Stan holds him back.

Oh.

Oops.

I let my hand wander down my back and yup, sure enough, it is one of those hospital gowns. I put on the hospital overcoat and sit down. "I thought I felt a slight breeze…" I mumble and they all chuckle.

"So, it's really all over?" Kyle asks, "No more dying?"

"No more dying," I say. "I'll finally be normal."

"This is too weird," Stan shakes his head, "I can still hardly believe it…"

"Yeah," I shrug, "but this is South Park and when has logic or reason ever mattered in South Park?"

"Touché," the three of them say in unison.

"Mr. McCormick?"

"Yeah?" I look over at a young nurse standing in the doorway.

"There are cops that would like to speak with you," she says, "Are you ready?"

I frown, "Yeah… but before you send them I want to change. Where are my clothes?"

"Right here," she says, walking towards a wheeled tray and picking up a pile of folded clothes.

"Thanks," I mumble as she hands them to me before leaving.

"Well I'd better head home," Stan says, patting my shoulder.

"Same here," Eric nods.

"Okay, see you guys," I grin, "Thanks for being here."

They wave before leaving and I turn to Kyle.

"Want me to wait outside?" he asks.

"Not gonna watch?" I joke, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.

"Kenny," he growls.

"Kidding, kidding," I laugh, "But you don't have to leave."

I slide the hospital gown off, putting my jeans, and sweatshirt back on.

Much better.

I don't like wearing hospital clothes. In fact, I hate it. They make me feel uncomfortable and incredibly vulnerable. I hate that.

A few minutes later, two male cops walk into the room, and I know I'm going to have to put on my best face.

They ask me to relay today's events for them, so I do, but I leave out the parts about Satan and hell.

"Your father was gone by the time we got there. Do you know where he is likely to go?"

I shake my head, "He'll probably be back home soon, though…"

"Why is that?"

"Drugs," I explain, though I thought this was common knowledge throughout the town. "He is a junkie."

"He doesn't have a dealer?"

"No, he _is_ the dealer," I frown, "There's a meth lab in my back yard…"

"Why didn't you report your father to the cops already?" one of them asks.

I swallow, "He's… He's my dad."

"And now he's killed your mother."

"I wanted to protect her," I say quietly, "That's why I didn't report him. I didn't want her to go to prison too… I guess it didn't really work out the way I had hoped it would in the end."

I wanted to protect her from the law, but I couldn't even protect her from him.

Fucking sad how things work sometimes…

The cops exchange a look before standing up, "We'll station cops to watch your house. Don't go near it. If you need anything inside let us know beforehand and we'll have someone go in with you. Do you have anyone you and your sister can stay with in the mean time?"

Unsure, I look over at Kyle, who simply nods.

"Yes," I say, allowing my gaze to return to the cops.

They nod and make their way towards the door.

"What are you going to do?" Kyle asks after they've left.

"About my dad?" I assume.

Kyle nods solemnly.

"I want to kill him," I say tersely.

"Kenny… You'll go to prison," he says, "Think about Karen. Who will take care of her? And… What about me?"

"Yeah… I know," I lean back on the pillow, "I'm sorry."

Kyle shakes his head, "Don't be. If I were in your position I'd likely be feeling the same way."

I just nod tiredly.

"You know," I start, "When I reached out to her, she was still warm…"

"Kenny…"

"If I went straight home like I usually did…" I trail off, swallowing.

I don't say anything else. I don't want to start sobbing grossly.

I got to see her at least. I got to tell her that I'm sorry, and that I love her.

"I'll go ask when you can leave and then check if Karen is awake," he says quietly, standing up and leaving the room.

Now I'm alone.


	25. KB: I love him

**South P****ark © Trey Parker & Matt Stone. **

* * *

_Even if we could turn back, we'd probably never end up where we started_

Haruki Murakami

**Kyle Broflovski – I love him**

"When is Kenneth McCormick allowed to leave?" I ask, stopping a nurse in the hallway.

"McCormick…" she repeats in a mumble, flipping through her clipboard. She pauses and looks up at me, "Are you family?"

"Uh, no…" I say, "I'm his…" I trail off.

Seriously… What exactly am I?

"I'm a very close friend," I say, "His parents aren't exactly a part of the picture anymore."

"I see," she nods solemnly; "We want to keep him overnight for observation."

"Why?" I ask.

"To be sure there aren't any complications due to his concussion."

"Is that… likely?" I ask hesitantly.

"I wouldn't say likely," she says, "But it's possible."

"Oh," I frown, mumbling a 'thanks' before going to check on Karen.

I walk into the waiting room, where Karen looks like she's half awake.

"Hey," I say softly.

"Kyle?" she whispers, pushing herself up into sitting position. "What happened?"

"Come with me, I'll take you to see Kenny," I say, knowing it isn't my place to tell her that her mother passed away at the hands of her father.

"Is he okay?" she asks.

"He's fine," I reassure her, feeling myself choke unpleasantly on the words.

I offer her my hand, which she takes, and we walk towards the room Kenny is currently occupying.

"Karen, you're awake," Kenny says once we step inside, putting on a happy face for his little sister.

"Kenny!" she cries, running into his open arms.

I slip out of the room and leave them alone to talk. I can't make out what Kenny is saying, but I hear Karen start to cry. My gut twists painfully at the sound.

It really isn't fair. They don't deserve all that sadness. Karen and Kenny both deserve so much better than this.

I let out a sigh and go to get myself a cup of water in the waiting room, taking a seat on the sofa Karen was asleep in minutes ago.

I put the cup to my lips and take a sip.

Bleh.

Room temperature water.

I set the cup down and lean against the couch, looking up. The florescent lights are so bright my eyes are forced shut.

I'm tired. I just want to crawl into my bed with Kenny and sleep and not worry about anything, but that isn't going to happen. There is too much going on right now. I shouldn't even be thinking about sleeping, or other selfish things.

"Kyle."

I look up and see Kenny holding Karen's hand in the doorway. Her eyes are red and still watery.

"Hey," I say.

Kenny looks at his sister, "Are you okay staying at Kyle's house? I'll be staying there starting tomorrow."

Karen nods slowly and Kenny ruffles her hair.

"Okay," he smiles at her before looking over at me. "Thanks, Kyle."

"Mr. McCormick?" a nurse calls, "You shouldn't leave your room."

"Yeah, yeah, one sec," he mumbles back.

Kenny gets down on eye level with Karen and says, "Try not to think about what happened today. Just sleep, and go to school. You and Kyle can come and pick me up during the lunch break tomorrow."

"Okay."

"I'm going to take care of you," he promises.

"Okay," she says again, wrapping her arms around him.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

After they part, Kenny gives me a meaningful look and then allows the nurse to walk him back to his room.

I smile over at Karen, and ask, "Ready to go?"

She nods, and we make our way to my dad's car, which I borrowed.

"Do you… want to stop and grab anything at the store before we head to my place?" I ask carefully, after we settle into the car.

"No," she says softly.

I pull out of the hospital parking lot and resist the urge to sigh. What a fucking day. What a fucking life. I can't even begin to imagine what Kenny must be feeling right now.

We drive past the McCormick house without so much as a word. There are cop cars still there, not that they're probably doing any good. The cops here… They aren't capable of doing much.

"I don't ever want to go back there," Karen whispers once the house is out of sight.

"You won't ever have to," I assure her. Maybe I'm not the right person to be saying these things, but she needs to hear them.

I feel her glance at me, but she doesn't say anything else for a while and we just drive in silence. I offer to put the radio on, but she declines. I guess she's comfortable in the silence. I'm okay with that.

"Do you love Kenny?" Karen asks, out of the blue.

"W-what?" I ask, caught off guard.

"Do you love Kenny?" she repeats.

"Uh… Yeah, he's one of my best friends," I say somewhat uncomfortably, because sure, Kenny is that, but he's also so much more.

She shakes her head, "Not like that."

"Then how?" I ask, even though I know what she means.

"The way my mum loved my dad," she says softly, "You love him in the way where you want to marry him."

Marriage?

Who said anything about marriage?

I swallow harshly, and for a minute I stay quiet until –

"Yeah, I do."

She nods.

"How did you know?" I ask.

"It's because you stay."

"I stay?"

I can see her nod her head in my peripheral vision, but doesn't elaborate any further. Instead, she says, "Sometimes Kenny talks about you. I can tell he feels the same way."

"Really?" I ask, gripping the steering wheel.

"Really."

"You make him happy," she says, "I know that… there are a lot of bad things happening, but you make him happy. I'm not naïve, I know he's doing things he shouldn't be doing. Sometimes when he comes home, he smells strange. I don't think he notices the smell. I think he's gotten so used to it. It's sad, and I know that part of it is for my sake. He wants to provide for me the way our parents never did, but I want to tell him he doesn't need to do that. I want him to be happy with himself and not have to shame himself."

"Yeah," I whisper.

"You'll help him, won't you?"

"I will."

We fall into another silence, but it's okay. I don't want to make Karen talk if she doesn't want to. She's been through a lot in the past day.

When we arrive to my house, I introduce Karen to Ike while I go into the other room to tell my parents about what's happened.

It's funny.

My parents don't really like Kenny, that much is obvious, but they're looking awfully sympathetic right now.

"Oh, those poor children," my mother wails, "Of course they can stay here!"

She rushes off into the other room to introduce herself to Karen, leaving me and my dad alone in the kitchen.

"I can't believe that Stuart McCormick…" he mumbles, trailing off and rubbing a hand over his forehead.

"I know."

"We grew up together. I had beers with him down at the pub… God, I don't know how many times," he sighs, "I never knew he would be capable of something like this. Those poor children, all that abuse…"

"Yeah," I whisper, distastefully. "I guess that's what certain drugs can do to a person. They make you so incredibly desperate, you'll do anything."

My dad sighs, shaking his head.

* * *

I try to fall asleep but I can't.

I read once that when you can't fall asleep, it means you're in someone else's dreams… Or something like that. I don't know whether or not that's true.

I toss and turn and my heart feels tight in my chest, but I force myself to calm down because in the end, worrying never solves anything. Worrying won't help Kenny.


	26. KM: Daddy

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

* * *

_And if I had to die today  
Scatter my ashes on this place  
And I live on in your grieving heart_

Patrick Wolf

**Kenny McCormick – Daddy**

I only slept for a few hours last night. There was too much on my mind.

I laid my head down on the pillow and found that I couldn't sleep. It's funny… Whenever I can't sleep I just end up thinking about things. Some sad things that I'd prefer not to think about but the thoughts force their way into my head and then soon they're all I can think about. Last night I tried and tried not to think about Mum's dead body, Kevin killing me, and my dad almost doing the same… But I couldn't help it. I felt disgust piling up with each ugly memory. Before I knew it, even more memories were rising to my mind's surface. I can recall every string of angry, desperate, haggard moans I've ever let out… Every painful death… Every drink, every drug… Every stupid thing I did when I was a kid.

I can recall one particular time… When I was fifteen this guy called me a faggot. The way he said it… I don't know. It was different than when Eric throws the word around. It bothered me. The intent and the meaning behind it bothered me, so I punched him square in the face and we got into a bit of a fight. I ended up sitting on top of him, getting the upper hand, but rather than throwing more punches, I just started grinding myself against him.

So many ridiculous things.

Ah… Well, like I said, a bunch of shit I'd rather not think about.

Kyle just picked me up from the hospital and now we're riding in his dad's car. I'm sitting in the back seat with Karen, who is listening to Kyle's iPod. I guess she approves of his taste in music.

"Kenny, do you need to pick anything up from your house before we head back to school?" he asks.

"Hm," I mumble, "I probably should… but later. I'll let the cops know."

"Of course," Kyle says.

"Thanks."

"Sure," he says, "So how did you sleep last night?"

"Not well," I admit.

"Why's that?"

"I don't know, I just kept thinking about things I didn't want to be thinking about, you know?"

"Yeah," he says, "I know."

"How about you?" I ask, "How did you sleep?"

"I didn't sleep too well either."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he chuckles, "The doctors kind of scared me when they told me you had to stay overnight. I don't know..."

"Aw, Kyle," I coo, "You were worried about lil ol' me?"

He rolls his eyes. "I just kept thinking, 'what if he falls into a coma?' or something..."

"Yeah," I say quietly. "But I'm here and I'm okay."

He smiles a bit. "So, are you sure you don't want to head back to my place and sleep, or take it easy?" he asks.

"Naw," I say, "I want to get back into the swing of things. Some normalcy would be nice."

He nods, understanding. Always understanding.

* * *

After school, we head up to Kyle's room to play on the okama game sphere.

"You know what?" I say, pausing the game.

"Hm?" Kyle looks over at me.

"I always used to wonder what would happen when I got old," I mumble. "Would I die of old age and then just keep coming back and dying and coming back and dying until I shrivel up into a pile of dust?" I shrug, "I never knew it was related to my ma…"

"Yeah…" he frowns, "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," I laugh, "It isn't your fault, is it?"

He shrugs, "I wasn't there at times I should have been. You were alone for a long time."

"It's okay," I assure him, "You're here now, aren't you?"

"I suppose…"

"Heh," I snicker, "Now that I'm mortal, I could get a tattoo."

Kyle smiles, "Yeah, you could."

"Maybe I will…" I consider.

"Any ideas?"

I shrug, "I'll have to think about it. If I get one, I want it to mean something."

He nods, "It's silly when it doesn't."

"It is."

"Kenny, I've been wanting to ask you something, but I…" he pauses, "I don't know when would be the best time."

"What's up?" I ask.

"What are we exactly?" he turns off the game and looks over at me, "We haven't really discussed labels… and… well…"

I pause for a moment, "What do you want us to be?"

"If I'm going to have you like this, then no one else can."

I nod, listening.

"That sounds selfish of me," he frowns, "Sorry… But I can't have it any other way."

"It doesn't sound selfish. Not at all," I say, "I feel the same way about you."

"So… We're together?"

"We're together."

He grins, "Okay."

* * *

The first dinner with Sheila and Gerald wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be. It was still awkward, which I had expected, but it wasn't so bad.

No one really knew what to say, so no one really said anything. We just sat and ate in silence, the only sound being the clatter of cutlery. I could tell that Sheila wanted to say something to me, but she couldn't find the words. Maybe that's for the best.

I thanked Sheila for dinner and then offered to help with the dishes. I'm trying to be as polite as possible. If me and Kyle are going to do this, she'll find out eventually, no matter how hard we try to hide it. I want her to accept me… but even if she won't, I suppose we'll manage.

Karen didn't eat much. I tried to get her to eat more, but she wouldn't. She's probably still feeling shy.

"Kyle," I say as we exit the kitchen.

"Hm?"

"I guess I can't put it off any longer," I say, stopping at the bottom of the stairway.

"Put what off?" Kyle asks, turning around to face me.

"I need to go home," I frown, "I need to fetch some of mine and Karen's things."

"I can come with you, if you want?"

I shake my head, "It's okay."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm just going to grab a few things," I tell him, "I'll be right back."

"Are you sure I can't drive you?" he asks.

I nod, "I'll be fast. You won't even notice me gone!"

"What if something happens?"

"Nothing will happen," I say surely, "Police have been patrolling, they're… waiting to arrest my dad."

"Okay," Kyle whispers.

"Tell Karen not to worry."

"I will…"

I wave before leaving the Broflovski residence.

I know that Kyle would prefer to tag along, but to be honest, it's easier this way. If I do end up running into trouble, at least I can take comfort in knowing that Kyle's safe here.

Once I reach the end of the Broflovski driveway I begin to run. I want to get this over with as soon as possible, so I try to calm down and let my legs do all the work.

It's cold… and as I approach my house it is quiet.

There is a cop car stationed outside, so I knock on the window and point to the house, "I'm going in there."

"What for?" one of them asks after rolling down the window.

"I need clothes and things…"

Fucking true, I have been wearing the same outfit for a little too long.

"We'll take you in."

I nod and the three of us make our way into the house.

It's even quieter in here.

The cops wait by the front door as I run straight upstairs, not allowing myself to glance into the living room, where everything had happened.

I grab a travel bag from my closet and put as much clothing and necessities in it as I can.

"Kenny," I voice says from behind me.

Ah, fuck.

My head whips around so quickly I feel my neck crack.

"Dad…" I say weakly. "How did you get in here?"

He doesn't say anything. Though, I suppose he doesn't need to. He probably slipped past the oblivious cops all too easily because everyone knows the cops around here aren't exactly the most capable people. Shit, this sucks.

"Where is it?" he asks, walking towards me. He looks worse for wear.

"No, Dad…" I whisper, holding my hand out in front of me, "Don't fucking come near me."

"Boy," he spits out, closing my bedroom door.

He was waiting for me to come back here…

"Seriously, Dad," I say, trying to sound as calm as I can. "There are two cops downstairs and they'll probably kill you if you try anything."

He ignores my warning and continues to approach me.

"Where is it?" he repeats. What happened to the backyard?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, even though I know what he is referring to. The meth lab.

"You know exactly what I mean," he hisses. "What else have you been telling the cops about, boy?"

"Nothing," I cry, taking another step back. "I wasn't saying anything! They searched the house, I didn't tell them anything!"

Not completely true… I did tell the cops a few things, but he doesn't need to know that. I suppose it doesn't matter either way. He isn't in the state of mind where he can listen. I can see it in his eyes. I know that look. He's crazed. He needs a fix and he'll do anything for it. I've seen that look in his eyes many times before, but never like this.

As his hands wrap around my throat, I'm once again faced with the possibility of dying. It seems sadly familiar, only this time there is one important difference. If I do die, I won't be coming back. Satan told me, though! He told me I wasn't going to die… But maybe it was stupid to trust someone like him.

That realization causes me to begin to struggle wildly against my dad's hold, kicking and writhing, like some sort of animal about to be ripped apart by a violent predator.

It's just like the day Kevin killed me. It feels the same.

I don't want to die…

He forces me onto the floor, hovering over me with violent intent as I struggle to breathe, digging my nails into his hands.

And then it stops.

I gasp for breath, sitting up and coughing.

The door was kicked open and the two cops are now standing in the doorway.

"Stuart McCormick, put your hands in the air!" one of them says, pointing a gun.

"He's reaching for something!" the other one yells.

I feel my eyes widen as I turn to look at my dad, gunshots ring, and then –


	27. KB: In days and dreams

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**Thank you guys for all the nice reviews! ****Profe drew me some cute fanart for this chapter! The link to it is on my profile page if you want to see it ~ **

* * *

_And walking in that room when you had tubes in your arms, __  
__Those singing morphine alarms out of tune_

The Antlers

**Kyle Broflovski – In days and dreams**

There have been too many fucking trips to Hells Pass this month.

Goddammit… It feels like I'm in one of those action-packed television shows where the reckless protagonist can't seem to stay out of trouble.

But it isn't a television show, it's real, which makes it a million times worse. Besides, Kenny hardly runs around seeking danger. It just always happens to find him.

One phone call, and as soon as the name "Kenneth McCormick" left the woman on the other line's lips, I felt sick.

Kenneth McCormick.

Hospital.

Gun.

Shot.

Kenneth McCormick.

Hospital.

Father.

Murder.

Murder…

Was someone murdered?

Kenneth McCormick.

Kenny McCormick.

Kenny McCormick.

Kenny McCormick.

Kenny.

Dead…

Who is dead?

The cops here are so fucking retarded…

I dropped the phone and I felt my heart jam its way into my throat, choking me.

"KI-YOLE, WHAT'S WRONG?" I heard my mother shriek before I ran up to get Karen.

Once we arrived to the hospital, the nurse set the facts straight and now we have to wait in that stupid white room.

It feels like time is going by incredibly slow. Each minute feels like an hour, and Karen won't stop crying.

Not that I blame her. First she lost her mum, and now her dad is dead, too.

And then there's Kenny…

I wish I could cry, but I doubt she needs to see me getting worked up. It'll only cause her to lose hope altogether.

Soon she falls asleep against my shoulder. I guess crying really does make people tired. I'm not going to dare to move. I wouldn't want to wake her. It's better for her to pass the time this way.

It's so fucking unfair.

Kenny hated the fact that he died all the time. He wanted it gone, and he got that wish granted… Then this happens.

It's so disgustingly ironic it makes me want to puke.

"Kyle?"

I look up. Shit.

"…Tweek? What are you doing here?"

His fingers curl around the crook of his elbow briefly, "I have to get some tests done."

"Is everything okay?"

He nods, "Just checkups."

"Oh," I say, growing incredibly uncomfortable with each passing second.

He wanders over to the coffee machine and fills up a cup.

"-Nng-" He tightens his grip on his coffee and brings it to his lips. His hands are trembling, causing the liquid to splash around in its cup and splash his nose.

I wonder if he knows…

"I'm sorry, Tweek," I say.

"C-Craig told me about it… It's okay, Kyle," he replies, twitching slightly.

"No, it's not. I was supposed to be your friend."

"Really, it's okay," he smiles softly, "You were hurting, right? P-people do things when they're sad. Things they're –nng– never proud of. We have to be forgiving."

I try to return the smile, but I can't. Not now. "You're a good person."

"So are you," he laughs mildly, "You know, if you and Craig hadn't developed the sort of re-relationship you did, then I wouldn't have him now."

"How?" I ask.

"You convinced him to confess to me," he explains, "I don't think he would have if you didn't tell him to."

"I guess that's one way to look at it."

"Well that's how I'm going to look at it," he says.

"Thanks, Tweek…"

"Sure, Kyle." He puts a hand on my head, "We're all hoping Kenny gets better. A bunch of the others wanted to come and visit, b-but I didn't think crowding the waiting room would do any good."

"How did you know about it?"

"It's on the news."

"Already…"

"Already."

"He's tough," Tweek says, "Kenny is one of the toughest guys I –nng– know. He'll be fine!"

"I hope so," I shut my eyes for a brief moment, refusing to let myself cry.

Tweek waves before turning to leave, and I'm alone again with nothing but the negative thoughts in my head as company.

I just sit here and try not to let those thoughts get to me, because if they do… I don't know what I'll do.

What feels like days later, a doctor steps into the waiting room.

"McCormick?" he asks, staring at me and Karen.

I nod, gently nudging Karen.

"Mhmmnm," she mumbles sleepily before realizing where she is. She opens her eyes widely and stares at the doctor. She still has tear stains on her face.

"I performed Kenneth's surgery," he starts, "I'm Dr. –"

"Is Kenny okay?" she cuts in, looking and sounding like she might cry again.

The doctor smiles at her kindly and nods, "He'll be perfectly fine. He's asleep right now."

"Oh, God," I say, putting a hand on my heart feeling like a heavy weight has just been lifted.

Karen stands up, "Can we see him?"

The nurse nods, leading us down the hallway.

Thank God…

I hover in the doorway for a moment.

It is strange seeing Kenny lying in that hospital bed, vulnerable and clad, covered by nothing but thin sheets. You can see the bandages clearly covering the wound on his chest.

I take a deep breath.

The room is deadly quiet apart from the beeping of machines.

I watch as Karen approaches the bed, reaching for his hand. He's still, but I can see the slight rise and fall of his chest.

"There were no complications?" I ask, looking over at the doctor.

He shakes his head, "The surgery went swimmingly."

I nod, relieved, "Thank you."

The doctor just smiles.

"When will he wake up?"

"It varies from person to person," the doctor explains, "It usually depends on the anesthesia used, and Mr. McCormick here is currently on quite a few pain killers –"

"Tonight?" I interrupt.

"Most likely."

Minutes later, I allow myself to finally enter the room.

He looks content in his sleep.

I'm happy he's alive.

I grab hold of his limp left hand, the one Karen isn't currently hugging.

"The doctor said he would wake up soon," I say to her.

She nods without looking up at me. She keeps her gaze locked on her sleeping older brother.

* * *

When Kenny finally does wake up I feel like I should leave the room. I feel like I should let Karen speak to him privately… however, I know it's selfish, but I can't bring myself to leave.

"Kenny," Karen's voice breaks, as his eyes flutter open. I can see her squeezing his hand even harder and this time, he squeezes back.

"Sorry I was stupid," he flashes her a very tired looking smile.

"You weren't stupid," she states, "Daddy was stupid."

"Daddy…" he repeats.

She simply nods, "He hurt you again. I told you to be careful."

"Yeah… I'm sorry," he apologizes again.

Karen shakes her head. They continue to briefly converse for the next couple of minutes and he forces out another smile before turning his head towards me.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," he says, sounding like he has no strength at all.

"Are you in much pain?"

"Yes," he grits.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he says. "Hey, Karen," he looks over at his little sister, "Why don't you go grab something to eat or drink while I talk to Kyle for a few minutes?"

"Kenny, if you want to talk to Kyle alone that's all you have to say," she rolls her eyes.

He laughs, "Sorry, kiddo."

She nods, reluctantly letting go of his hand.

I give Karen some change anyway and she gives Kenny one last look before walking out of the room.

"I always underestimate her," he mumbles after she leaves. "You know," he says, "I had a weird dream where I was running, chasing you through the dark streets as you swerved between all these unfamiliar looking buildings. My chest felt tight, but I didn't stop. I had to catch up to you."

"Did you catch up to me?"

"Sure did," he grins, but still ends up looking incredibly miserable.

"You don't have to do that," I say.

"Do what?"

"Fake things."

"Sorry, old habit," he says, staring at the ceiling. "They told me not to move," he sighs shakily, "So I just get to lie here for days while I piss into a tube and let some stranger take care of it. I fucking hate that…"

"I know," I whisper.

Kenny hates nothing more than feeling vulnerable, and right now he's so incredibly vulnerable.

"He was waiting for me, you know," he whispers hoarsely. "He was waiting."

"Your dad?"

"I'll have a scar," he says, not answering my question. "For the first time ever, I'll have a scar."

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything at all.

Kenny brings his arm over his face and begins to cry.

"Fuck!" he yells angrily.

I don't know what to do for him. I can't reach out and hold him because he'd bust his stitches. So I just sit here, squeezing his hand too tightly as his body shudders with each sob.

I suppose this is why he made Karen leave.

He didn't want her to see him like this.

So much for no more tears…

* * *

When Kenny is finally released, he has a bunch of prescribed drugs to keep him from feeling any pain.

"They told me I have to take it easy, no strenuous activity," he says. He pauses, and then starts laughing softly, "They told me I can't have sex. I guess, knowing who I was, they felt the need to highlight that?"

I frown, unsure of how to reply.

"The perks of living in a small town," he mumbles. "I wonder if I can masturbate…"

"Well you better find out for sure before you try," I suggest, "Wouldn't that be an interesting story? You busting your stitches while masturbating."

Kenny laughs again, though bitterly. "Yeah, that would be a tough one to explain."


	28. KM: When words become visuals

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**A few months later~**

* * *

"_What happens when people open their hearts?"__  
__"They get better."_

Haruki Murakami

**Kenny McCormick – ****When words become visuals**

I got so angry after leaving the hospital for the second time a few months ago. That night I wandered out to Stark's pond and just let everything I was feeling out.

I screamed into the immensity, up at my 'creator'.

But no matter how loud I shouted, he didn't reply. Obviously.

It's funny and ironic and sad… Satan did more for me than God ever did.

Maybe I am being stupid.

Maybe God isn't supposed to be fair. He gives life and he takes life and maybe I'm the unfair one for expecting any different… I don't know. No one said it was supposed to be fair.

I took a deep breath and exhaled. I bent down and let my hand graze the cold water. I suddenly felt like I was trying to do the impossible, like I was trying to catch grains of salt in the sea. I suddenly felt dirty. I drew my hand away from the water before I could taint it and made my way back to Kyle's.

I ended up pulling a bunch of stitches with all the screaming and angry outbursts. Kyle had to take me back to the hospital. He was annoyed, I could tell, but he tried not to show it.

But that's over now, and I'm healing in more ways than one.

* * *

It's 4 in the morning and I'm woken up by Kyle.

How, one may ask?

Well, he's panting.

I roll over to look at him. He's fisting the bed sheets with his eyebrows drawn together and his lips parted.

Nightmare?

No, wait…

He's having a dream.

One of _those_ dreams.

I look away for a moment, unused to seeing an expression like that on his face. We've been fooling around so mildly for the past few months, not even once going below the belt. Kyle asked to take things slow. I think it had a little to do with my injury, and a lot to do with my past nonchalant sexual escapades. It's a good thing, I think. When a person's body has been reduced to an object so many times they began to forget about things like modesty and self-respect. I think I'd like to get them back. People try to hide their shame and they try to pass themselves off as normal. They worry about their secret getting out, and they worry about the rejection they fear will come with it. I'm guilty of all this, but I think I'm doing okay. I think that whenever Kyle is ready, I'll be ready too.

We haven't even told anyone about our relationship yet, not that we're trying too hard to hide it. I suppose there had just been other things to deal with these past months.

I look back at him, staring intently at his face.

I wonder if he looked like that when he was with Craig…

Sometimes people do things that surprise me. It sucks and when it happens it can be a complete mind-fuck. That's basically how I felt when I learnt Kyle's little secret about Craig Tucker.

I liked to think of Kyle as the epitome of innocence, which is probably why I was unpleasantly surprised that he isn't a virgin. It wasn't really fair of me to give him that kind of status. No one is that innocent, and there's nothing wrong with experimenting.

I don't want to say that I'm disappointed, because it would make me a raging, stupid hypocrite, but a small part of me is disappointed. I would have liked to have been Kyle's first someday even if he couldn't be mine.

I suppose that in this day and age, things like that tend not to matter as much to most people. I suppose, in all honesty, I don't really deserve to be his first anyway. Not that he is some sort of prize.

But just because I won't be, it doesn't mean that if or when the time comes it won't mean a hell of a lot to me. It could never mean anything less.

Before I lost my virginity, it seemed so important. So I took my parka off, got with a girl, and began to realize I was actually all right to look at. Even when I hated myself, I used that little bit of confidence I had to my advantage.

Now, it seems so small and unimportant. On a large scare, things like that really don't matter. There are far worse things than never experiencing your body with another. It hasn't all been wonderful, but I think that I can come to terms with everything that happened and maybe move on.

Kyle said he'd help as much as he can, but I know that in the end I'm the only person who can truly help me.

* * *

"You make cute faces," I muse aloud as we're walking to school.

"Huh?"

I look over at him and grin, "You enjoyed yourself last night, eh?"

"_What_?" he hisses.

"Heh," I lean forward and give him a peck on the lips, "I bet I can make you moan louder, though."

"STOP TALKING," he shrieks, putting two and two together. He gives me a rough shove and runs ahead.

"The fuck's wrong with the Jew?" Cartman asks, sidling up beside me with Stan in tow.

I just snicker, "Nothing, nothing."

"So…" Stan says awkwardly, "Are you guys, like… together…?"

"Yup!" I say, "Aren't I lucky?"

Eric scoffs, "I would hardly call you lucky."

"Watch it, bub," I say with mock anger. "But aren't either of you surprised?"

"Ha," Eric laughs, "Not in the slightest. The Jew was a mess after you almost got yourself permanently killed. I mean… it wasn't normal."

"Yeah," Stan agrees, "After giving it some thought, I kind of expected it. I mean, with you, he was always a little different."

I grin at them both, and the three of us run to catch up with Kyle.

Fuck whatever Eric says, I am so damn lucky.

* * *

School feels like it went by incredibly fast since I left the hospital, even faster than it already had been before I got shot.

I missed a lot of classes but I managed to keep up with the work, thanks to Kyle's time and patience. I doubt I'll ever attend college, but my decent grades are something I'm kind of proud of.

Ike's been helping Karen out with a lot of things, too. He's wise for his age. It's almost scary.

We haven't really spoken about my dad since his death, and my wound has since healed over. There are only the makings of a scar now. I think Kyle had to tell me not to scratch at my stitches at least a hundred times.

I'm dealing. So is Karen. All things aside, I think we're doing all right. Karen has grown more comfortable in her new home, just as Kyle and I have grown more comfortable with each other.

The school year is coming to an end. Exams are over, and today we just have to pick up our graduation gowns and listen to the teachers blab about the ceremony rules.

Kyle made valedictorian, of course.

"Fuck!" he had hissed after the principal announced the valedictorian through the intercom a few weeks back. "No, no, no, no…" he kept repeating.

"What?" I asked, "It's great, Kyle! Congratulations."

"I can't do it."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I can't!"

"Yes."

"No!"

"Why not?"

"You don't get it," he shrieked "They'll throw things at me!"

"Who?"

"Kids…" he said, "They don't like me."

"Which kids?" I ask, "I'll beat them up before they get close enough to lay a finger on you."

"You had better keep an eye on Clyde then, as well as Fosse, Bill and Terrance," he laughed in a good-natured manner, but I can tell, even now, that the anxiety is still there. I'm actually surprised Fosse, Bill and Terrance even graduated.

After class, it was my turn to get a surprise. I was asked to visit the principal after class. Of course, everyone probably assumed that I was about to get scolded again, but no, not this time. The teachers have been surprisingly patient with me ever since I made the news, which is kind of annoying. I don't want to be given special treatment.

When I got to the office, the principal had asked me to sing at the graduation ceremony after Kyle gives his speech.

I didn't get much of a say in which song, unfortunately… He gave me a list of songs to sing for the music teacher, who then decided.

The assembly is over, but Kyle is meeting with the principal to rehearse his speech. As soon as we left the building, everyone unceremoniously shoved their gowns into their book bags and probably forgot all about the ceremony rules. Tomorrow should be interesting…

"The songs on that list were all pretty gay," Eric says after my whiny rant about my lack of choice.

"I know…" I shrug, "But most graduation songs are sappy and shit… Oh well, it's already chosen. At least I don't have to sing 'Graduation' by Vitamin C. That song is gay as hell."

"I… kind of like that song," Stan admits.

Eric laughs, "You would. You'll probably cry, no matter what Kinny sings."

"No, I won't!"

"Sure," Eric rolls his eyes.

"You guys all make me out to be the biggest crybaby ever, but I'm not," Stan grumbles.

"It's not a bad thing, Stan," I say. "I'm actually kind of jealous."

"Jealous?" he raises an eyebrow.

"I just… wish I was more open about things, you know?" I say, "It's like… I want to get closer, but I keep pulling back. I don't want to end up getting further and further away."

"Fags," Eric mumbles, "I'm out. You can have your gay little chat without me."

"Aw," I say jokingly, "Don't be so harsh."

He rolls his eyes, walking off.

"You look happier," Stan says, "So does Kyle."

"I'm happier I think… I hope Kyle is, too."

"He is, you can see it… Just be careful with him."

"What do you mean?" I frown.

"Uh, well…" he scratches the back of his head nervously and I begin to understand what he means.

"I'm not going to cheat on him," I say, "Contrary to popular belief, I do have morals."

"You never used to."

"I guess not," I laugh miserably, "I feel like I've changed, though."

"That's good," he says, "Is it Kyle?"

"In ways," I nod. "He makes me feel like I'm worth more than I thought I was."

"You are worth more than you thought you were," Stan states, as if it should have been obvious all along. "You're a good brother, a good friend, a good person… You were a good son, too, even if your father made you think differently. And hey, someday you'll be a good husband too," he winks, "And maybe even a good father."

"Thanks, Stan," I chuckle.

He nods. "You need a lift back to Kyle's or anything?"

"No, but thanks, I think I'm going to wait here for him."

"Okay, see you tomorrow."

* * *

"You took quite a while," I say once Kyle finally steps through the doors.

"Yeah, sorry," he says, "You didn't have to wait for me."

I shrug, "It's fine, I wanted to."

He smiles a bit as he lifts his bag over his shoulder. "And so, you'll be singing after I give the speech tomorrow?"

I nod, making a face.

"Why the weird expression?"

"I wish I could have chosen the song," I mumble.

"Oh," he snickers, taking my hand in his as we head home. "Either way, I'm sure it'll be great."

Once we return home, Kyle continues to rehearse his speech to himself and I can basically hear his heart palpitating from across the room.

"You'll be fine!" I try to convince him from my place on the bed, but he still continues to pace back and forth with his eyes glued to the paper.

* * *

"Kenny?" I hear Kyle ask into the dim room hours later, "You're not asleep, are you?"

I smell his shampoo. I turn my head and see him standing in the doorway wearing sweatpants, towel in hand.

"No," I reply. "Done your shower?"

"Mhm," he mumbles shutting and locking the door after stepping into the room.

Kyle and I have been sharing a room. I don't know how his parents feel about that, but I'd prefer Karen to have her own room. She is a teenaged girl now, after all.

"Are you tired?" he asks, tossing the towel onto a chair after drying his hair with it.

"I feel like I should be… but I'm not really."

He stares at me for a minute before crawling into bed beside me, "Are you thinking?"

"I'm always thinking," I chuckle, "Just like you."

He laughs, "What are you thinking about?"

"Dying," I say honestly.

Kyle doesn't look surprised, he simply nods, urging me to continue.

"I don't want to scare you, but I've died for you before," I admit, "I've died for all of you guys before."

"Yeah," he whispers, "But you won't have to do that again…"

I smile, "You're probably right."

"It's so strange," he admits, "Everything that happened."

"Yeah, I know. It's strange, and ironic. I came so damn close to staying dead those months back," I feel myself frown, "I was dead. Gone… and I was sure I wasn't coming back. It's scary to think about, even now."

"I'm sorry. I can't even begin to imagine it," he whispers.

"Good," I say, "You don't need to know how it feels… It was my dad. First it was Kevin, and then my dad. My ma was always yelling at Kevin, telling him he was just like 'his father'. I never really understood what she meant. I never really paid any attention… but, heh, he sure showed me."

I take another deep breath before continuing. "I used to think that I was being tested. I thought that's what life was… A test, different for each person. I was determined to prove myself to whatever God there was. I was going to take the pain. I could handle it if it meant something. If it meant something… then I was learning, but… it got difficult and I began to question my beliefs. Was this even a test? Maybe… but I didn't know what I was supposed to be learning. Maybe I didn't learn anything at all."

"I think you have," he says softly.

"I hope."

He rolls on top of me, sitting on my stomach. "You doubt yourself too much," he says, leaning down to kiss me.

"Probably," I admit, placing my hands on his hips.

He meets my look, giving me a brief smile. It holds no trace of pity or sympathy. I'm glad for that. I'm tired of all the sad looks I've been receiving in the past few months. Each time someone told me they were sorry, part of me wanted to ask them, "Why? What exactly are you sorry for?" They don't know the entire story, and maybe I'm being stupid getting upset over their polite gestures, but it does get tiring.

I sigh audibly.

"Everything okay?" Kyle asks.

"Yeah, everything is pretty much perfect," I say. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating. Things aren't near perfect, but they will be. Kyle knows this. He knows this because he knows me.

"Good," he says.

I sit up and Kyle slides down onto my lap.

"Kenny…" he whispers.

"Yeah?"

"I…" he trails off.

"Me too," I say.

He wraps his arms around my neck and kisses me again.

I am no expert on love. I don't even know what it is, or what it is supposed to feel like, but when I'm with Kyle and we're like this… Well, I guess it is love.

Maybe we're not quite ready to say the words yet, or maybe we don't need to. Maybe there are times when words matter less. Maybe there are times when words can't quite describe the things we feel. Maybe there are times when what we feel is on a whole other level, and there is nothing you can say that would capture that perfect and vivid moment.

Hell, I sound gay, but fuck it. I'm here in this dim room, I've got Kyle pressed up against me, he's hard and I'm hard and... well...

"Now?" I ask stupidly.

"Now is good," he smiles, looking somewhat amused.


	29. KB: Adoration

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

* * *

_Warm and alive I'm all over you_

The Used

**Kyle Broflovski – ****Adoration**

"Now?" Kenny asks after we break apart.

"Now is good."

"Why now?" he asks, "Not that I'm complaining."

"We're graduating tomorrow," I say, "I think now is perfect."

"You're sure?"

I roll my eyes, "Don't I look sure?"

"Yeah… you look pretty sure," he chuckles. "But what about your parents?"

"They're downstairs watching television… and my door is locked."

With that, he gently flips me over, straddling my hips. His tongue makes its way into my mouth as he begins to untie my sweatpants. He breaks the kiss then pulls them off with ease, the simple gesture proving that he's done this many times before.

But for some reason… That thought doesn't bother me as much as it used to. Maybe it's because I know none of those people mattered to him the way I do.

"This way," Kenny breathes, "lie on your back. I want be able to see your face."

I suppose it's like this with him. Easy. Comfortable. It never was with Craig. Maybe it was the rush of things, or the lack of emotion behind it all. I don't think Craig cared if he saw my face. Actually I know he preferred it if he couldn't, that way he could pretend I was the person he actually wanted to be fucking.

"You know," Kenny snickers, with a funny look on his face, "I haven't had sex since before the last time I died. With this body, it's my first time… It's probably too late for this kind of thing, but I'm going to pretend you're taking my virginity."

I laugh quietly and he leans forward to kiss me again before stepping back.

Slowly he reaches for the edge of his t-shirt, lifting it up over his head and tossing it behind him.

I can feel my heart beating faster and faster as more and more of his skin is revealed.

Something I had dreamed of for a long time is finally happening.

"Is it okay?" he asks quietly.

"It's perfect, Kenny," I whisper back.

My head lolls back as he begins to move his hips. I allow myself to zone out and get lost in the mild movements; I just listen to the quiet little sounds he makes in unison to mine and take comfort in the soft sound of his breathing.

* * *

It was nice.

We had to move to the floor, because the bed creaked too loudly, and there was still the fear of being caught, but that made it kind of exciting. Kenny laughed when I voiced that opinion. "Who knew you'd have that kind of kink!"

It was really nice, and my stomach is still fluttering.

I think that I like my body best when it's with his body and we're moving in that perfect synchronicity. It was like we did it a hundred times before.

Kenny chuckles lightly, turning his head towards me. We're still lying naked on the floor, with our tired limbs tangled together, far too lazy to move back onto my bed.

"Y'know," he says, "Most of the others are under the impression that you are this totally innocent guy that doesn't know the difference between a pair of tits and a couple basketballs."

"I guess I have them all fooled!" I joke.

"Guess the innocent Kyle Broflovski isn't so innocent after all," he snakes his arms around me and I lay my head against his chest.

"Hey, I'm plenty innocent," I protest. He laughs and tightens his grip.

"When did you lose it?" I ask him.

"My virginity?"

"Yeah."

"I was thirteen."

"Wow, that's pretty young."

It reminds me of what Chef once said. Seventeen is the best age to start having sex. By then, he said we would probably be ready. I was seventeen, but I suppose I still wasn't quite ready.

"Yeah, I was pretty desperate to lose it. I'm surprised it wasn't earlier. You know how I was back then… Well, I suppose I haven't really changed."

"You have," I say, "At least, I think so." I tilt my head to look up at him and he smiles at me.

"Maybe I have a little bit."

"So how did it happen?"

"You sure you want to talk about this?" he asks.

I nod, "I thought it would bother me, but somehow… I'm okay. So tell me the story."

"Me and Craig both decided that that night would be the night we both lost our virginity, so we went to a party and found a couple of girls. They were a bit older than us, I think, but they were nice enough."

"Oh, wow."

"Yeah," he says, "When did you and Craig…?"

I snort, "Remember the party you dragged me to a few months ago?"

He opens his mouth, forming an 'o' shape. "See? I knew something was off about you! You looked tired, or emotionally drained."

I nod, "You called me out on it, but I wasn't really ready to let anyone know."

"Why Craig?"

"I don't know. It was a compilation of many things I suppose. My parents were nagging me about school, studying, the future… university and things like that. Ike was getting picked on at school, Cartman was being his typical asshole self. I was stressed out and at the same time I took up his offer to have sex because I was curious. Pretty as they are, I knew I held no attraction towards any girls. So I knew I probably wasn't interested in them, and…" I pause and sigh. None of that was exactly the real reason and I suppose Kenny deserves to know the truth. "I knew you were fucking some girl in another room. It made me kind of… I don't know, jealous, I guess."

Kenny is staring up at the ceiling, but I know he's listening.

"So Craig and I got talking, he said I wasn't as lame as he thought I was and then it happened," I shrug. "And then it happened again."

"Why me?" he asks so quietly, I almost don't hear him.

I almost smile at the question. "Why not? You try to hide it, but you're an honest and selfless person. I think you're incredibly altruistic, even though many people don't realize it. I think that you probably don't realize it either. You don't give yourself enough credit. Cartman hurt you so badly you had to be hospitalized, but you forgave him without any hesitation because you knew that is what he needed."

"I'm a whore," he laughs. "Literally a whore."

"Kenny… Shut up."

"You can't say that doesn't bug you, or turn you off. I know you and people like you deserve better than people like me. You know, I always thought there was something… that I felt something for you, but I tried to stifle it because I knew you deserved better."

I give a lazy shrug. "You did what you felt you needed to do. You weren't thinking of yourself. This wasn't something you were having fun doing, am I right? You could call it another selfless act. You didn't want your sister to starve, or get picked on for her clothing. I can understand it. I don't like it, but I can understand why you did it. You shouldn't be so ashamed… Even if you did enjoy it, aren't you the one who always says that liking to have a lot of sex doesn't make someone a whore or a slut? There's nothing wrong with sex no matter what, unless the person doesn't want it, because that's not sex, it's rape."

"I guess…"

"Besides, all of that is only one part of your life. There is more to you than just how many people have been fucked by Kenny McCormick or how many people have fucked Kenny McCormick. I'd like to see more of the real Kenny, the parts you don't show everyone else."

"You deserve better," he says again.

"Well, even if that was the case, I don't care what I _deserve_. I want you. A relationship is about more than what one person wants, isn't it?"

"Yes…"

"So if you want me, and I want you, then it's perfect."

I feel him swallow. I look up at him again, his eyes are glassy and he's… crying?

"What's wrong?" I reach up and hurry to brush away the tears before they can fall down his face.

"I feel happy," he says quietly, "that's all."

"All right," I smile a bit, "I'm glad."

He smiles back, "Okay, I'm going to stop being a self-pitying pussy right now."

"Dude," I chuckle, "It's okay to talk about your feelings."

I suppose that sometimes we're still insecure. Sometimes we will have days full of self-hatred. Sometimes we'll cry. We'll get impatient. We'll get angry. We won't always agree… then again, what couple does?

But all that doesn't matter, because in the end we always know that we're right for each other.

"So then," I start, "What do you like about me? What's so appealing about me that Kenny McCormick wanted me more than anyone else?"

"Everything," he says, "I like everything about you. Plus you've got a sweet ass."

"That's the easy answer," I laugh.

"Okay," Kenny smiles. "I like your hair," he says, "I like your eyes, your mouth, your hands, and I like your knees."

"My knees?"

He nods, before continuing, "I like the way you talk, the sound of your voice. I like your thirst for knowledge and your fiery temper. I love that you see the best in the worst situations, and the best in the worst people. I love that you are honest, patient, genuine, and accepting, I love that you don't put people down, and you realize that people are more than their past. I love the way you make me feel, and I hope I can make you feel the same way."

I smile as he continues to speak, not stopping to notice that he has replaced the word "like" with "love".

"I love everything about you, Kyle."

"Even my Jew nose?" I joke.

He laughs, "Yes, even your nose."

* * *

It was like Stan had told me a while ago. It felt just like in the movies. With Craig, I never really liked what I was doing. With Kenny, it was different. It all came naturally. It was like I just knew what to do. I guess that's how it's supposed to be.

My parents give us a funny look this morning, while Ike and Karen just give us sly smiles from across the breakfast table.

"Did you guys have a good night?" Ike asks with a smirk.

I guess we weren't as quiet as we thought we were…

I feel myself pale, while Kenny laughs and rubs my back.

I suppose the cat is out of the bag now, even though I know my parents will just continue to pretend they don't know a thing until I choose to tell them and break that illusion.

Oh well, I won't think about that just yet.

It's time to graduate.


	30. KM: Graduation

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.**

**Last chapter before the epilogue ~**

* * *

_It's time to move away and shine_

The Polyphonic Spree

**Kenny McCormick – Graduation**

Fucking graduation.

It's crazy to think we've all made it this far.

I saw Craig holding hands with Tweek earlier. They both looked so happy. Seeing it made me pretty happy, too. I poked Craig in the ribs when I saw them.

Craig rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. I mean it, Craig Tucker was actually grinning.

The teachers were pulling out their hair trying to get us all in alphabetical order, but we are all seated and everyone is finally finished walking across the stage. It was awkward for kids like me, but when Kyle walked across the stage he won all kinds of scholarships and shit. He must be happy. I know his parents are, you could hear Sheila screaming things like "OH, MY BUBBELAH IS SO SMART!" and "THAT'S MY BUBBY" throughout the entire gymnasium. Kyle probably wanted to melt into the floor.

Now it's time for the valedictorian to give his speech. Kyle's parents really couldn't be prouder.

He enters the stage, looking fairly calm, but I know he's still incredibly nervous.

He starts by introducing himself and saying a few mandatory pretty words about the school. "We've all been through so much here in South Park," he continues, "and now so many of us are saying goodbye, moving to a new city, where we'll meet new people and experience new things. To those leaving, I'd say good luck, but I doubt any of you will need it," he smiles to the audience. "I, like many of you, spent the majority of the year excited over the possibility of leaving, but now that it's finally happening… I know that I'll miss it. We are the next generation, and though we won't all go on to become doctors and lawyers, hopefully we'll all become the people we want to become. People our parents can be proud of. People our friends can be proud of. People our lovers can be proud of. But most importantly, people we can be proud of."

His speech continues flawlessly. We all knew it would go off without a hitch. Even Cartman knew, he just didn't want to admit it. Actually, he was probably just hoping Kyle would slip up so he could tease him about it.

I'm going to give him a big "I told you so" for being so stressed out and worried he'd mess up, or that Clyde would throw something at him. Clyde backed off ever since our relationship status became known to the student population. I doubt anyone wanted to fuck around with Kyle, knowing they may inflict the wrath of crazy Kenny McCormick.

Kyle got accepted to the University of Colarado Boulder. Aaaaand guess what he'll be studying? Psychology! Not law!

So there, Sheila and Gerald.

After Kyle finished his speech, it's my turn to take the stage.

I'm singing "I'm Moving On" by Rascal Flatts with Wendy on piano.

It's pretty fitting, I must say.

* * *

"You were great," Kyle yells happily after the ceremony.

"So were you," I grin.

"I got through my entire speech and no one threw anything at me," he laughs, wrapping his arms around me.

"I told you no one would throw anything at you," I laugh, rubbing his back. "It really was a great speech."

"Thank you."

I feel like each time I have my arms around Kyle I am discovering new things about him. I wouldn't want to call him fragile, or weak, because he has a fiery temper and would probably kick my ass all the way back home… But sometimes those thoughts don't make a difference, and I'll think it anyway because I want to protect him from everything. I know these thoughts are stupid and unrealistic. I can't protect him and he doesn't need me to. I doubt he ever really has. He isn't a child anymore, and neither am I.

We've grown up, and we'll keep growing.

Kyle will be moving to Boulder for school after summer and… I still don't know where I'll be, but I'm not going to think about that. I'm not going to think about anything except right now.

So I pull Kyle close and I kiss him right on the lips in the middle of the crowd of people, in front of his parents, not giving a damn who sees, because he is mine, and I am his, and I want everyone to know how proud I am of that.

* * *

Kyle's parents took Ike, Karen, Kyle and I all to a fancy restaurant in celebration. I think they felt compelled to ask us to tag along because my parents aren't around anymore and we're still living with the Broflovski family after all.

"You know, I'm moving in August," Kyle breaks in as his parents continue to talk and rant to Ike and Karen about how proud they are of their son. They even throw in a few positive comments about me and the fact that I made honors (all thanks to Kyle), which actually makes me feel pretty damn good. Karen beams at the praise they're giving me.

"I know," I say, finally looking across the table at Kyle.

"Maybe it's selfish to ask, but you should consider coming with me."

"Leave South Park?" I ask, feeling somewhat unsure. This place… This place I've been my whole life. This place has the firmest hold on me.

Kyle simply nods.

"I don't know if I can," I tell him, because I honestly don't.

"Well you know what they say," he tells me, "Sometimes leaving home can be just as hard as staying."

"I guess that's true."

"It'll be a fresh start, though," he offers, "No one will know your name there."

I nod my head.

"So," Kyle says, holding out his hand to me across the table. "Gonna come with me? You can take some time to think about it if you need."

I grab it and intertwine our fingers. "Okay," I say, "I'll let you know."

* * *

I'm sure there are plenty of parties happening, but I'd prefer to stay in and so would Kyle. I think we've both had enough of parties for a long time after the year we've had.

I've been watching movies with Kyle for the past few hours until he went off to take a shower. So I'm just lying here on his bed and thinking.

"Kenny?"

I look over and see Karen hovering in the doorway of Kyle's bedroom.

"Hey," I say, sitting up.

"You should go," she says, walking into the dim-lit room.

"Hm?"

"Go," she says, "With Kyle."

"Oh…" I tilt my head to the side but don't say anything else. To be honest, I want to, but at the same time, I don't want to leave Karen behind. However… I think she knows this, and I think she's probably going to scold me for babying her again. "How'd you know he asked me to go with him?"

"I heard him ask you during dinner at the restaurant."

"Oh," I say again.

"I'm not a little girl anymore," she says, "I don't need you to sacrifice things for me. You're happiest when you're with Kyle, anyone can see that."

"It's not –"

She shakes her head, cutting me off. "Go with him, Kenny. It's not like someone is making you choose between Kyle and me. I agree with him, it might be good for you to leave this place. You hate it here, and the people... so many of them have done you wrong and you won't have to deal with those people anymore if you go. They won't be able to hurt you… They won't even be able to look at you and make you feel bad about yourself."

I chuckle, somewhat sadly. "But… wouldn't I be running away?" I ask her.

She smiles, shrugging. "You're doing what's best for you. No one could blame you for that."

I return the smile, and she takes my hand, holding it. "Thank you, Kenny."

"What for?"

"Everything you do… Everything you did," she says, "But… I don't need to be protected anymore."

I nod my head a few times, "I think I'm starting to understand that."

* * *

Kyle finishes his shower and returns to his bedroom shortly after Karen leaves.

"Kenny?" he asks.

"Mm," I mumble.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I shrug, "I'm just thinking again."

"What about?" he asks, crawling into bed and rolling to face me. He looks oddly concerned, as if he thinks I'm upset.

I reach over and put my hand on his curly, damp hair. "I'm not sad," I chuckle, "Don't worry."

He lets out an inaudible laugh and I feel a puff of warm, mint-toothpaste-scented breath on my face. "I worry a lot, don't I?"

"Yeah," I say, "But so do I about some stuff, even if I pretend not to. I guess it's something we both have to work on."

"What's on your mind?" he asks, moving closer.

"I'll go," I say, "with you, I mean. I'll go. To Boulder."

"Really?" he asks, sounding hopeful.

"Really," I confirm.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I say. "I want to be with you."

"Okay," he smiles. He looks pretty. He always looks pretty… And maybe that's not the best word to describe a guy, and Kyle would probably get annoyed with me if I said it, but hey, what can I say? Kyle is pretty.

"Is it running away?" I ask.

"If I said it was, would you still go?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then," he shrugs, holding out his hand. "Run away with me. Fuck the rest."

I chuckle, taking his hand.

* * *

The days will continue and it's strange to think that everyone will be separated soon.

Eric will be attending business school in the fall. I don't know about the other guys, but I'm not surprised. He wants to be a millionaire, and knowing him, he'll probably actually do it.

In a matter of days, Stan will be a father, for fuck's sake. Wendy is due to have her baby soon. It's a little girl and they're picking out names now.

Kyle and I will be moving to Boulder next month. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared to leave this place. This fucking place… It's eaten me up over the years. This place has literally chewed me up and spit me back so many times and soon I'll be rid of it. It's hard to imagine that the weight of South Park will be gone off my shoulders.

So, what? Yeah, I'm scared… but for now I'll enjoy the summer.


	31. Epilogue: The rest of our lives

**South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone. **

**And this is it. Thanks for everyone who read and positively reviewed this. You guys all have my gratitude! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

* * *

_Oh, I love the curling of your hair  
Gives me the greatest peace I've ever known  
I see Dylan Thomas in your face  
Recited Butler Yeats there in your grace_

Patrick Wolf

**Epilogue – The first day of the rest of our lives**

**Kenny McCormick**

I haven't been to visit my parents' graves. I can't, at least not yet. Maybe one day I'll be ready. I'll go talk to them. I'll tell them I'm doing well. I'll tell them what's happening in my life. I'll tell them about Kyle. I'll tell them I'm happier. I'll ask my dad why he did the things he did, even though I know he won't be able to answer me. I suppose it wouldn't matter even if he could. There is no reason for what he did. No reason at all.

I'm writing a book. Kyle is pretty damn curious, but I'm going to leave him hanging until I'm finished writing it. I decided to take the advice he gave me a while back. I'll write. I'll write about myself, I'll write about Kyle, I'll write about my friends, my family. I'll write about the good and the bad. I'll just write.

Kyle said he'd make breakfast for me in the morning.

"There will probably be eggshells in the pancakes," he warned. Kyle has had many less-than-stellar moments in the kitchen thus far, to say the least.

"That's fine," I had said, because really, it was all fine.

Not to sound ironic, but I feel like I've finally woken up from a steady continuity of sleepless nights. A lot of my worries have been put to rest. I felt like I wasn't completely here, but now I am and it feels different somehow. I guess I can't really put my finger on it, but it's like… I'm not stuck in between anymore. I'm where I want to be and with the events of South Park behind me, I can finally enjoy that feeling.

Kyle is in school and working part time at a book store. He loves it. Someday he will be Dr. Kyle Broflovski and he will help people to help themselves, kind of like how he helps me. I think that suits him.

And myself? I got a job as a docker. It's not glamorous, and I have to wear a pair of dumb, navy coveralls, but it's easy money and the guys I work with are pretty chilled out.

When we had settled here, I knew I would need to get a job. It wouldn't be fair of me to bum off of Kyle. He told me I didn't need to, but I told him I wanted to.

There's a lot of things I find myself wanting to do lately, things I've never really given much thought to in the past. I want to spend less time inside and more time outside. I'll go for walks, runs and maybe even some fuckin' bike rides.

I want to look back and be able to say that I am free now. It's all I've ever wanted.

"I'll try to be a better person," I told Kyle when we first moved here, "I'll be happier. I don't want to disappoint myself, or you."

"Don't force yourself. No matter what, you won't disappoint me," he had replied, "I don't think you can."

That made me feel better.

The sun went down hours ago, and the moon is shining through the open window. I can see it clearly from my place on the bed.

"I'm happy," I say, turning my head to Kyle.

"Good," he looks up at me, content. "That's good."

"Are you happy?" I ask.

"I'm happy."

I stare down at him and smile, watching him loosen the drawstrings of my sweatpants. "What are you doing?" I ask.

He smiles back. "I'm touching you," he says simply, wrapping his hand around Kenny Junior.

"Mmm…"

Being with Kyle makes things seem better, whether it's like this, whether we're talking about unimportant things, or whether we're sharing a silence. Yeah… being with Kyle, even in the simplest way, makes things so much better.

And sure, some days are easier than others, but that's normal. It's like the old saying goes… There are no happy endings in life, only happy moments. I think… I think I'm okay with that.

* * *

**Kyle Broflovski**

Kenny ended up moving to Boulder with me. I kind of knew he would. He also started to write a novel. He won't let me read any of it, but he seems excited about it. He always did have a knack for storytelling. I can only imagine what it's about. Maybe it's the story of his life. That would make for such a wild tale.

Things are good between us – really good – and the talk with my parents wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. My father didn't care that much that I wouldn't be marrying a woman, and my mother just said, "Well I suppose this is why you were never interested in any of those nice Jewish girls we introduced you to over the years…"

So that was that.

We still go down to South Park often to visit everyone and Karen and Ike make sure to call us most days.

Of course, Wendy had her baby. A little girl. She couldn't be happier. Stan threw up so much when Wendy went into labor that he had to be taken to the hospital too.

Kenny did end up getting a tattoo. He got the number 17 on his forearm. No fancy script, no bright colors: just the simple number 17 in black ink and a plain font.

"What does it symbolize?" I had asked after he decided.

"Well," he began, "I was seventeen when the most important events in my life took place. I don't ever want to forget."

I smiled. I had a pretty firm idea what he was talking about. Among other things, Kenny was seventeen years old when he got his life back.

Right now we're lying side by side on the bed in our new apartment. My thumb brushes over the black ink of the little numbers one and seven. It's early in the morning and Kenny's still fast asleep, but somehow, still far from okay, he's smiling.

For now, I can take comfort in that.

**Fin**_**.**_


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